Woman's Best Friend
by moonandpaw
Summary: SPOILERS FOR SERIES 3. Sherlock has trouble with boundaries, he 'deleted' a neighbor from his Mind Palace, a dog gets thoroughly spoiled and John satisfies his bloodlust with Sherlock's face. Throw in alcohol, a doppelganger and some dancing, and life on Baker Street will get a hell of a lot more interesting. I OWN NOTHING BUT OC. Criticism welcome. Read and review, please.
1. Bloodhound

[Author's Note: Things that I just remembered I should have mentioned- 1. This is my first attempt at the Sherlock series, so, if you have any advice, let me at it. 2. If you find any mistakes, please let me know and I will update. 3. Let me know what you think (review boxes are lovely things) so that I may consider continuing or concentrating elsewhere. 4. I am not the BBC, or its affiliated partners, writers, etc. I own nothing but the OCs and the dream to someday kidnap the whole Sherlock crew. Sigh. One can dream.]

"_'First do no harm'_! Honestly, John, I would think you took your oaths a little more seriously. You were a _soldier_!" The figure coming out of the shadowed entrance to 221B Baker street yelled, as well as they could, through a tissue.

Their head was tilted back trying to staunch the flow of blood pouring from their lip, nose, left eyebrow and hairline. The figure pulled the kerchief, sodden in spots with deep crimson blood, away from their face to try to asses the damage. Deeming the flow to have considerably slowed, they inelegantly plopped onto the front step of the flat and tugged their long, dark coat closer to brace against the November chill. In the light offered by the nearby streetlight at this particular location, the person could be seen working their jaw, a grimace stuck to their face along with the remnants of blood. It was quite noticeably a male, tall, wiry and with elegant features hidden under adopted commonplace and vulgar expressions, stark contrast of fair skin against unnaturally dark hair, and sharp angles that led to soft shadows in his countenance. The man? The newly brought-back-to-life Sherlock Holmes. A bruised, bloody and aching version of himself, to tell the least of his troubles.

Why was he sitting alone on a step, in a dark street, nursing his bloody wounds? Because his friend and colleague, Dr. John Hamish Watson had just beaten him to a pulp in the living room. Apparently all was _not_ forgiven after the incident in the train carriage, and now Sherlock knew it was not exactly nice to trick your best mate into thinking they were going to die a fiery death (the second in two days) just so that you could inflate your ego and have a laugh at their expense. Honestly, all the niceties and social protocols were starting to grind on his nerves. Wasn't it enough that he _apologized_? Anyway, promptly after the interview held just a few steps ahead from where he was sitting now, John had told him he had a surprise. Having the smaller man fly at him, fist first, for fifteen minutes before Lestrade had determined that John had had enough and wrenched them apart was not Sherlock's idea of a surprise. Very far from it, actually.

In true Holmes manner, he had made a witty comment about John's stature and the force of his blows, and the good doctor broke his nose before Lestrade had even reacted. Quickly slipping away before he could infuriate Watson further, Sherlock took to the first step to sulk. Surely the army man should have been happier that he had returned, even if he made a remark or two about the ridiculous facial hair he had acquired. Maybe John was sensitive to that sort of thing? Mary had plainly pointed out he knew nothing of human nature. Surely John knew that jests were his manner of showing his appreciation. And what's funnier than almost dyin-

"_Bloody fuck_!" The cry of surprise that came out of the deducing genius was halfway pitiful and comical, arms waving madly in an effort to regain balance before he was toppled over and savagely attacked by a halitosis-ridden mouth. The bloodhound, who Sherlock had never seen before in his life insisted in showing an unwarranted amount of affection towards the wounded stranger. Sherlock pushed the dog off, scrambling to his feet quickly while the dog bounded around him with glee just in time to hear a distant, very angry voice.

"Oi! If you lay one violent finger on him, I will have your head. He only got off his leash, he's just a pup!" The voice came accompanied by a young woman just barely catching her breath.

Rolling his eyes with exasperation, Sherlock glanced at the young woman just as she fastened the obviously broken leash around his neck with a small knot. _Twenty nine. Dyed brown hair. Natural blond. Single. Lives on her own. Youngest of three siblings. Allergic to strawberries. Near sighted. Scientist. Foreign. Night owl_. The list went on and on, but Sherlock was uninterested. His face ached, his best mate was cross with him, Molly had a fiancee that looked disturbingly like himself, and -wait, did she think he was going to hit her dog?

"Only incredibly anxious, phobic people, psychopaths and future serial killers hit dogs, madam, and I am none of the above, _thank you very much_!" Sherlock cut into the ongoing rant he had managed to block out while he deduced her, face twisted into a frown. "Oh, no, I can see you're a regular bloke-next-door from the bloody hanky. Not a psychopath at all."

Feeling the slightest tinge of embarrassment (really, what had these two years done to him?), he tucked the garment into his pocket and cleared his throat and mumbling something about being a high-functioning sociopath and smiled slightly at the offending canine. The dog, who he noticed was named Sir Bartholomew Barkington from the tag on his collar, took this action as open invitation to knock him over again and continue his onslaught of kisses. The girl reeled in her instinct to continue saying a few choice words to this person only because her companion seemed taken to him, and sighed before gently coaxing the dog off of Sherlock, gaining her first, full view of his face. His jaw and left eye were turning a dusky shade of purple and there was crusted blood everywhere. She groaned. She knew that face and as unfriendly as she was feeling, she had to let up on him. He hadn't exactly warranted the full force of her irritation. Yet.

"Look, I'm sorry. Most people see him bounding up and label him dangerous, unwanted and only think to hurt him as a control method." She grinned wickedly, her eyes sparkling in the relative darkness. "Kind of like you, Mr. Holmes. Then again, people usually _warm up_ to the dog."

Sherlock remained unsurprised. His face had been plastered everywhere it would fit, his reputation and people skills were known to the world. Of course she would know who he was. It was only fitting, really. A pleased smile crept onto his broken lips before he spoke. "It's hard to find people who don't sugarcoat facts." Taking a knee, he allowed the dog to sniff him and generally nuzzle into his hand while he patted him with an expression akin to affection. "Oh, you're a good boy, aren't you Bart? Even if you do get off your leash and cause your mum to run apparently _halfway across town_ for you. I mean, she's practically hyperventilating and now having to go all the way back home."

She scoffed quietly, flicking her hair away from her face. "Funny. Really funny. Tell me the lottery numbers next, will you?"

Smirking, Sherlock shrugged. "Well, I've been doing this for a while," he started in a very show-off tone. The rest of his argument, however, was lost when Bartholomew licked feverishly at his face once more."Oh, you wouldn't care if I left without telling you, would you? Yes, you'd still love me. Oh, good boy," his voice increasingly raised in octaves as he spoke to happy beast.

Curious and pleased that someone was getting along with her Barty, she dug her hands into the pockets of her coat. She smirked knowing that this very smart man was being very stupid. "Aren't you supposed to be a fantastic genius of deduction?" Rolling his eyes at the obvious fact, Sherlock haughtily responded with a nod. Her saccharine smile belied her intentions, she leaned towards him and whispered, "Then, I would have thought you, of all people, could identify a dog that was in the habit of eating his own and other's '_businesses_'"

The words sunk in a few seconds before the consulting detective got to his feet and rubbed at his face with his hands and coat. "Why the hell didn't you say _anything_!? I could get _infections_?!"

"I assumed you'd be like the '_Dog Whisperer_' and he'd tell you," she managed to respond between giggles and gasps of air. "Come on, Bart, Mr. Holmes has to go wash his face and rescue the little shreds of dignity and self-respect he has left before apologizing to his friend," she cooed to the dog before leading him to the door of 219 Baker Street, not before turning to the door of 221B and waving at Dr. Watson who had apparently cooled down enough to let Sherlock in and happened on the happy situation.

"Good night, Addie!" John called from the stoop, grinning from ear to ear, watching her disappear into the frame of her door.

Sherlock looked flabbergasted at the turn of events. "You know that woman?" He asked, spitting out the words.

"Of course I do. She's lived there since we moved in. She brought us banana bread. You said it was particularly good."

Sherlock let his head fall to his hands with a groan as he climbed into the flat. "This isn't happening." He considered how much of an idiot he looked like now. John had really battered his brains with that last punch.

"That teaches you not be a tool, Sherlock. Take it in stride," John assured, patting him on the back and leading his friend into the flat, relishing in his momentary misery.


	2. Cricket

[Author's note: Given that the first part was decently received, I posted a new chapter. Let me know what you think. I still don't own anything but the OC's, as much as I wish I did. Toodles!]

Breakfast time found the living room of 221B unusually full. John, Mary, Sherlock, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson all gathered on the couches and armchairs to partake in the feast the elderly landlady had prepared. They were all smiles and stories while they gobbled down their treats and pointedly ignored the image of the world's only consulting detective lounging in his armchair wrapped up in nothing more than a white bed sheet. Literally _nothing _more than the damned bed sheet. Apparently, this little shindig was not '_worth the effort of getting dressed_' for, and all had rolled their eyes and pretended he was properly dressed.

"-and then, the bloody thing flew through the air and conked him on the head," John exclaimed, barely containing the laughter bubbling from his lips as the rest of the occupants roared happily, mimicking the events of a long ago cricket match with his old, weathered bat in hand.

Sherlock bounced in his seat with enthusiasm "Oh, oh, that's like the time I pretended that I didn't know how to turn off the bomb, when I totally did. Your face was _hilarious_, John. Best thing I've ever seen!" He wiped tears of mirth from his still bruised face, reliving the moment as if it had been an age ago and not a few days. The thud of the cricket bat on the floor as John angrily put it down caught the attention of everyone. Mary, knowing what was next scooted along further on the couch before Sherlock grinned and asked, "Too soon?"

* * *

When he came to, he was still in nothing but his sheet, but he was propped against the front door of 221B with a note pinned to the sheet in the doctor's scrambled handwriting that read 'Call me when you get frostbite on your bits'. Shortly after he found his mobile tucked into the sheet. _Honestly, the temper on that man_. The chill of November was creeping up his spine, and the fact that it was clear daylight and people on the street were giving him odd looks was not helping. Although, if he had survived Buckingham Palace in such an attire, he could surely survive Baker street. He tucked his hands and feet into the sheet and attempted to frown at the people who lingered on him, which only made his recently broken nose ache and the freshly closed cuts itch and crackle.

"I happen on you in the best moments, don't I, Mr. Holmes?" Padding up the street with Bartholomew was Adelaide, grinning like a madwoman at the sight before her. Really, John was not taking this whole 'I'm not dead' ordeal terribly. The doctor had just found closure, and was thrown into the fray once more. Although, it wasn't as if the talented Mr. Holmes was making anything any easier. Then again, from what she had heard, he never did.

Through clenched teeth Sherlock managed a "Good morning, Adelaide." He had the good mind to ask John about their neighbor when he last saw her. No one lived on Baker street without him knowing it. With a sunnier disposition he added, "Sir Bartholomew". The bloodhound fought against his new harness and leash which he deduced would last another six weeks before it, too, broke, but for now, he was being dutifully restrained by his guardian while he tugged and wagged his tail madly.

"No, no , Bart, you don't want to get wrapped up with Mr. Holmes right now." She giggled and directed herself at the younger Holmes. "Get it? _Wrapped_ up? Like your sheet? No? You don't get it." Her smile all but went up in smoke by the end of her sentence. Really, would it kill him to smile?

Rolling his eyes with disdain he offered,"Oh, no, I understand the pun. I just fail to see why it is humourous. Although, seeing as you are the youngest sibling of divorced parents, you were probably afforded much more leeway in terms of what people found funny. They didn't want to offend the baby of the house. However, you grew up thinking you were funny and that built your confidence instead of developing daddy issues and drowning your sorrows in men and drinks. It's wonderful news for you, terrible for the people who now have to suffer your idea of humor!" He finished with a gasp before turning his face the other way and muttering to himself.

The low, pitiful whine coming from Bartholomew forced Sherlock to glance at Addie out the corner of his eye. She was shuffling her feet awkwardly, picking at invisible bits of her fingernails deciding whether she should say anything. "Being clever doesn't give you license to be a prick. I was going to let you in until John decided to let you into your own flat, but you can call him when you 'get frostbite on your bits'" With an angry huff and a toss of her hair, she led a reluctant Bart to the door of 219 and disappeared through it. The consulting detective curled closer to his sheet, the resolution he had once held in hs expression turning more and more forlorn as he glanced quickly towards his neighbor's door. A minute or two of those sad, blue eyes staring, seemingly unseen, with unconstrained desire for warmth at the rouge-painted door, it swung inwards in its frame and Addie peeked out. "Get in." He wasted no time in complying, dragging the sheet on the street and into the warmth of the flat.

Bart danced around him, barking happily and begging for attention, he managed to sneak a handout from the folds of his sheet, while still remaining decent, to pat the dog on the head and scratch him behind the ears. Dancing, as well, were his eyes around the flat of this person he had apparently 'deleted' from his previous memories. It was an odd mix of tendencies in such a small space. What appeared to be her desk showed signs of OCD. Everything was labeled and set in right angles from each other, diplomas wer proudly displayed in the wall behind announcing degrees in Chemistry and Molecular Biology along with copies of scientific articles she had published. The kitchen was clean, but not obsessively so. It showed signs of often use and there were ingredients still on the island. The rest of the flat was bursting with tones of silver and blue, colorful paw prints that were obviously Bart's, a wall covered in books of many genres, old vinyls, CD's, movies, etc. An electronic drum set was tucked into a corner along with a keyboard and cello. There were so many details to be seen, that he barely noticed Adelaide enter with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. He looked at them in distaste.

"You are not running around in a sheet in my flat. Put it on, they should fit." Sherlock took the bundle and compared it to the similar sweatpants and the shirt apparel she had on. He sniffed the fabric and smirked. "Obviously men's clothing, laundered, but not very recently. No creases or tears, so they were well taken care of and you didn't wear them because they smell faintly male. They match yours, so it was part of a his and hers set. You broke up, oh, four months ago."

The woman's mouth dropped open and bore her green eyes into the nearly nude man. "That's amazing." His smirk grew wider.

"Yes, I've been told."

She shook her head and grinned. "No, I mean how half of the time you guess and _damn_, are you a bad guesser." The smile dropped from his face and was replaced with a look of confusion. "They're my brother's. It was a gift from Dad, and he was here three weeks ago." She pointed behind her. "Bathroom's over there."

He hated the garments with a vengeance, but it was better than walking around in bedclothes. Once he had gotten out of the bathroom he found her typing furiously on her laptop at her desk. He assumed it was not proper to disturb her concentration, given the neat state she kept her desk in, but could not help but glance at the cello in the corner with interest. Long, pale fingers plucked a somber tune, and he looked back to see that she had not noticed the sound. He sat down, fishing the bow from the stand next to it and played a quiet, baleful tune to which Bart responded by howling along. "Silly puppy. Let Sherlock play in peace," Addie admonished quietly, not tearing her eyes from the screen or her fingers from the keys. The quirky man grinned in earnest at the hidden consent to his playing and followed through with a merrier tune.

Time passed and the windows darkened before the two spoke again. "You know John won't let you in until you apologize. Really apologize."

Sherlock scoffed, "I already apologized once. It will be a cold day in hell before I consider it necessary to make another."

He had not stopped his playing to speak and his fingers continued up and down the neck of the instrument, Bart now laid out at his feet, staring up with impossible curiosity. Addie shrugged. "Fine. Are you hungry? The fridge is stocked, so's the pantry." He considered this.

"I ate today. Digestion slows me down." The silence returned, save for the sound of the cello, and the tapping of Bart's tail on the floor.

The expertly wielded bow was then ripped from nimble hands and replaced by a sandwich. Before he could complain and refuse the meal, she gave him a look that could skin him alive. Reluctantly, he took a bite.

"You dropped your work to make me a sandwich, how domestic of you."

"I gave you one look and you tore into it, how positively _ordinary_ of _you_."

Already in the throes of digestion and the cello's bow taken away, Sherlock was left to contemplate his surroundings on the couch, the great lug of a bloodhound on top of him. The subtle taps of the laptop keys and the repetitive motion of his hand on the beast's head lulled him to a deep sleep.

"Holy hell!" The detective roared at the top of his lungs, drowned only by the roaring laughter of Adelaide, who was sitting on the coffee table and John, who stood over him with an empty bucket that previously contained the ice that was now pooled on his lap. With the clumsy movements of a sleepy man, he shot off the couch to rid himself of the cold sensation that had pulled him awake. Managing to contain his laughter John exclaimed, "Well, it's not frostbite, but it'll do!"

With an accusatory glance at Addie the taller man seethed, "You let this happen!"

"Aw, it was all in good fun!"

"Come on, you insufferable git, Mrs. Hudson is worried about you!" John said between giggles as he took leave of 219.

Sherlock sulked after him, frown on his face, but Bart, having other ideas, nipped at his heels and tugged on the pants leg of the sweats to drag him back.

"Bart, no! Sit!" Addie admonished pulling him off the man's leg.

The expression of unhappiness softened as he took notice of the dog, kneeling to give him a hearty rub and a pat on the head. "Yes, yes. Goodnight, Bart. I'll see you later."

Scowling, the young woman glared at the other human. "Yes, by all means, wish _him_ a good night. I only sheltered, clothed and fed you."

With an honest smile, he looked up from his kneeling position. "My lap is cold and wet now because of you. Though, I suppose I do owe you thanks." He stood, brushing imaginary dust off his knees and pulled himself to his full height. He looked much thinner and worse for wear in plain clothes, she noticed. "Thank you. Good night, Addie."

"Good night, Sherlock," she replied with a broad smile, hand firmly on Bart's collar as he took his leave. She glanced at the dark tan and brown beauty beside her. "He is _not_ your new pet, Sir Bartholomew Barkington!"


	3. Snakes

{Author's note: New chapter with a little spoilers from the new episode. Anyway, read ad review. let me know, etc. Again, I wish I owned Sherlock. Oh, the things I would do.}

_Knock. Knock. Knock. _

The door of 219 Baker street swung open to reveal a still pajama-clad Adelaide rubbing the sleep from her eyes. A bundle of clothes was stuffed into her arms without a moment's notice while the illustrious Mr. Holmes brushed past her into the flat, uninvited.

"They're clean, but I made sure it smelled faintly of a male. I know you like that sort of thing," he commented off-handedly while he looked under the tables and behind corners with an expectant look.

Addie snorted in a very unladylike manner at this. "Yes, because your scent carries the same level of _comfort_ as my brother does." She blew a strand of hair from her eyes, imagining she looked a little like a scarecrow right at the moment. "Besides, I leant you these more than a month ago."

"Yes, I know. I decided to kill two birds with one stone. Tonight is Christmas Eve and my ever-annoying friends thought it prudent that I invite you to partake if the tedium and forced conversation. Where's my little boy?" His words came out in one rapid burst, the last part accented by the fact that he turned on his heel towards her and stood in a very imposing manner before Addie.

To anyone else, this would seem odd. However, Addie, having spent the last month catering to surprise visits from Sherlock, was neither surprised nor in the least bit intimidated by his show. Just as she was going to tell Sherlock exactly what he could go do to himself and the general direction in which he could do it, Bart's desperate scratches on her bedroom door distracted the man and he bad at once left her with the words on her tongue. "Sherlock, it is two in the morning! _Go home_!" He ignored her, instead letting the dog out and paying him far more attention than he paid anyone else in the planet. The bloodhound, of course, was more than happy to oblige to the male's plans of late-night belly rubs. "Bart, you traitor."

"Don't listen to the mean lady, Barty. She's just cranky, sore and sexually frustrated. It's nothing to do with immense bond _we_ share." The high pitch in which the detective spoke in was unusual and reserved only for Bartholomew. The man lead the pup to the couch, settling down opposite to where Addie plopped down after she deduced she was not going to get sleep anytime soon. Bart had both front paws on Sherlock's thighs while the other held the great big head between his large hands. "Bartholomew, would you like to assist the Christmas party? It would be my honor to have you in 221B."

The consenting bark caused Addie to groan out loud, trying to figure out when this dysfunctional affair began. "How you managed to get anything done as a child with pets present is beyond me. They probably passed away after they realized you were not actually their lover."

"I never had pets as a child. Mummy wouldn't allow it." He declared vacantly as he maneuvered the dog onto his lap. "_Mother_. I meant 'Mother wouldn't allow it'." He fought to repair his blunder in vain, Addie was already giggling in her seat.

"Mummy was right. You'd probably end up pickling their remains." Her sleepy eyes found the two in an inter-species embrace while Sherlock avoided getting licked on the face. "It is sweet. You show more emotion to that dog than to anyone else."

"Dogs don't silently judge you," he replied with a smirk as Bart scrambled off of him to bring him toys to play fetch with.

"No one silently judges you, Sherlock. We tell you how much of a bastard you are on a regular basis."

The tall man smirked at this, glancing at Addie, curled into a ball at the end of the sofa. "No, that's just you, I'm afraid. Probably due to the fact you moved so much: Caribbean, America, Germany, New Zealand, London. You were the new kid everywhere, you developed tough skin. Anywhere near?"

"For once, you actually got everything right."

On a roll, he tossed a rubber ball behind him to entertain Bart and squinted at Adelaide's calm expression. "But it's more than that, no? You're nice, not overly so, you prefer animals and petri dishes with cells and quiet environments. You lose yourself in books and music and little things with little human interaction. You hate people!"

With a grin, Addie raked her fingers through her locks. "Ding. Ding. Ding. Good job."

"Why do you put up with John or Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson or _me_?"

"I hate people as a principle, but you can't isolate yourself. Life is about challenge. What's more challenging than, say, explaining quantum mechanics to a _goldfish_." She frowned at the surprised expression on his face. "What?"

He shook the cobwebs from his mind and breathed deep. "Nothing. My brother, Mycroft, made a counter argument of sorts like that the other day. He was in favor of isolation."

"Wonderful man, I'm sure."

"I used to think I was an idiot because of him." He remarked with a scrunch of his nose.

"You are. You're a bloody genius, but you are, in fact, an idiot."

"Well, aren't you sweet?"

Addie unrolled from her ball, turning towards the armrest of the sofa and swinging her legs over it. She fell backwards onto Sherlock's lap, hair haloed around her, blond roots, Sherlock noticed, beginning to show. "Like poisoned honey, mate. I expect you'll get over it soon."

When Addie woke up, the windows were bright with the afternoon sun, even though the fairy lights she had put up for Christmas time were still on. It seemed Sherlock had left before it was light. Stretching her limbs to enjoy the popping of her bones, she noticed that the flat was exceedingly quiet. Sitting up far too quickly, she grasped at her head at the same time she reached for a note on the coffee table written in Sherlock's neat scrawl. _'If you ever want to see your dog again, you will come to the pond and teach quantum mechanics_.' Adelaide smiled. The smart ass was good. Overly attached to her dog, but good.

After a light meal, some work, a shower and a change to a simple, modest dark red dress and boots, she headed over to 221B. The smell of turkey assaulted her senses as she turned the doorknob. In her arms she lugged the presents she had gotten for her neighbors, regardless of their level of annoyance (ie. Sherlock did not get a lump of coal) and ascended the stairs. "Happy holidays, bunch," she announced as she kicked open the door. Inside Mrs. Hudson called her greetings from the kitchen while John and DI Lestrade finished putting up fairy lights. Sherlock and Bart, however, sat contemplating each other.

Slowly, she stepped towards her pet and the detective sat, but John stopped her with an arm blocking her way. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you. Sherlock got into the alcohol a little early on and he's letting Bartholomew down easy."

With a curious smile, she turned back to the pair. Sherlock's cheeks were pink and he struggled to find the right words. "Sir Bartholomew, I really must tell you, I consider myself married to my work and as flattered as I am, I really don't think-," he was interrupted by Bart's low, sad whining. "No, _please don't_. Oh, alright. We'll make it work," he exclaimed teary-eyed before he hugged the dog with affection.

John and Lestrade stifled a laugh, insisting they needed to get Sherlock drunk more often. "So, after that display of oddities, how are you, Addie?"

"Well, John, I'm exhausted because your best friend has boundary issues, I'm freezing and my dog is emotionally attached to psy-" "socio-" "-sorry, _sociopath_. All in all... it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas."

They sat around the table: John, Sherlock, Mary, Molly, Lestrade, Tom, Addie and Mrs. Hudson, momentarily quiet due to them gobbling down their food greedily. After the first few bites, conversation bubbled. They slipped into individual chats while the radio in the corner played festive tunes. Sherlock leaned towards Addie with clumsy movements. "I want to dance. Do you want to dance?"

Without waiting for an answer, the man dragged his neighbor from her chair and spun her in a surprisingly coordinated manner, belying the state of drunkenness he was in. "Mistletoe and Holly" by Frank Sinatra crooned from the speaker. "You dissect body parts in your kitchen, but a good box step is what rounds out your resume," she giggled in a turn, one arm around his neck and the other in his own. He had remarkably good posture and form, back ramrod straight, hand on her waist while the other gently guided her through the motions.

"Well, dancing is a fine art and mark of good breeding. I am nothing if not cultured." He dipped her low, Addie was momentarily concerned that her dress would ride up, but she was laughing so hard that she forgot the issue. Once righted, Sherlock looked a little green in his all black ensemble, and fortunately, she caught it on time. Dragging him towards the bathroom, she had just enough time to get out of the way before the tall gentleman up chucked the evening's consumption. "You alright there, Fred Astaire?"

Sherlock ran the tap and splashed his face before brushing his teeth with a feral growl ripping his throat. "I feel like death warmed over."

"Now that the alcohol is out of your system you'll feel better. Though I surely lost my appetite."

"I apologize."

She waved it off. "It's fine. I drink when I feel awkward, as well."

He stopped mid-brush, left eye twitching, "Who said I feel awkward?"

"John isn't living here anymore, Mary's taking a lot of his time, Molly Hooper has a boyfriend who could be your doppelganger, Mrs. Hudson keeps coddling you, and you tried to break up with my dog."

Throwing down his toothbrush, he turned from the sink. "I'm going to go have another glass of wine." Addie grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to the bathroom. An impatient noise escaped him, but he faced at the stern-looking woman all the same.

"You know, if you ever need to talk, or rant, or just play my cello with another presence in the room, you can come to me. You've given up a lot for your friends, Sherlock. You don't always have to be the one fixing things." Without as much as a hint of recognition, he stormed out of the bathroom and attacked his violin. The music filled the living room, now packed with full stomachs and wine as the presents were handed out. Adelaide handed out her gifts, the last one she gave to Bart and ushered him towards Sherlock. He stopped mid-note to pry the box from the hound's maw. Molly and Tom had gone, having been making eyes at each other for far longer than the rest of the company was comfortable with. Lestrade, after giving everyone, including John and Sherlock, a sloppy kiss goodnight, hailed a cab home. John and Mary sat on the sofa, Mrs. Hudson opposite them in the spare chair while Adelaide lounged in front of the detective's chair, blinking away the sleep.

"I rather like Christmas in Baker street, John," Mary said with a grin, going into the detail that she especially liked the oddities that always seemed to creep up.

Watson laughed. "Oh, don't say it, they'll lock us up in the basement. And by '_they_' I mean _that_ one," he pointed towards a smirking Sherlock who had just put away his violin and took to his chair.

"Nonsense, John, there's plenty of space to tie you up here."

"Why do I feel he already knows where to tie you?" Addie asked, using Sherlock's leg as support, Bart curled at her feet, asleep. The man in question only smiled and winked in her direction.

"Well, we're going before you get any ideas," the doctor said with a grin of his own, helping his bride-to-be to her feet. Mrs. Hudson said something about her hip and took her leave, as well.

"Why are you on the floor?" The remaining man asked.

"Why are you in the chair?"

"That makes no sense."

"Neither does your face!"

In spite of the insulting nature of the comment, he laughed, rolling is eyes good-naturedly at his neighbor. "Wait here." With a single motion, he propelled himself out of the chair and into his room. He returned a moment later with box neatly wrapped in paper the same dark red as her dress. "Happy Christmas," he wished, handing her the package. She released the delicate wrapping, and with delicate fingers, she opened the box. The colorful, paper and spring snakes were no was she was expecting. She let out a squeal while Sherlock laughed boisterously at her expense.

"You bastard! You right, idiot of a bastard!" She shrieked, jumping up from her spot on the floor to the chair and swatting at him with force.

"Your face! Oh, your face!" His eyes held tears of mirth an dhis cheeks were once again pink and hot.

"I hate you, Sherlock Holmes," Addie grew tired of hitting him, and instead leaned against him heavily in exhaustion. "I'm going home. I'm tired and you're a prick."

"Can Bart stay tonight? Please?" He asked like the obvious child he was, asking for a sleepover.

"Fine. I'll get him in the morning." She rustled his hair good-naturedly, compiling the will to move and stretching her arms once she was vertical.

"Good night, Adelaide," he said in a whisper, before briefly pressing his lips to her cheek in a quick kiss goodbye.

With a grin, Adelaide opened her flat, and changed into the oversized sweat pants Sherlock had brought over, chuckling every time she remembered the snakes. It was then that a twinkling caught her eye. The fairy lights were reflecting on her cello which appeared to have been just polished and treated, the bow's horse hair replaced and a stack of freshly inked sheet music sat on the stand. On the table beside it lay another box, in the same red paper with 'Not snakes' written in black marker. She opened it with caution and emptied a beautiful kaleidoscope into her hand. She grinned knowing he had taken the hint from the brief moments he had entered her spare room to get Bart, the walls painted like the tumbling gems and mirror images that make the instrument so fun.

Addie looked through the ocular lens and watched in admiration as the pieces created beautiful images. It would not be until next morning that she would notice that while, beautiful, Sherlock had put ink on the ocular and now sported a black ring around her eye.


	4. Fingers

[Author's Note: HI! Thank you to everyone following this story and adding it to your favorite's list! I'm glad you're enjoying the sort of odd form the story has. Don't forget to review the story (the review box gets lonely) and tell me what you think. I own nothing but the OC's and the dream of going onto the Baker street set. Ta!]

The sound of a forlorn violin filled the early afternoon hours of the last day of the year 2013. Sherlock was, in a word, miserable. John and Mary had informed him that they would be spending the New Year's celebrations in some party at a hotel along with Mary's friends, much to the dismay of the good doctor. Mrs. Hudson, on the other hand, had accepted the invitation of the bakery next door and would be spending the celebration with him, while Molly and Lestrade had been invited to a small gathering with the members of the Yard. As much as Sherlock hated the crowds, gatherings and social interaction, he could not help but feel like he had been abandoned. The consulting detective stopped, mid-arpeggio, to come to an astounding realization that there was a manner to obtain companionship. Setting the instrument down and carding his fingers through his messy curls in an attempt of taming them, he burst out the door of 221B and cut the short distance to 219. He didn't even bother to knock, having already discovered where the spare key was hidden (and re-hidden) and let himself in.

With a great boom, the door knocked against the wall, announcing his presence to a worse-for-wear Addie, curled up in the couch seemingly praying for the end to come. The flat had all the curtains drawn and a faint tune lingered in the background from the record player in the corner. Bart, who usually was a ball of energy whenever he saw Sherlock, despite the former having tried to break up with him during the holidays, was draped at his owner's feet whining sadly. "What the hell did you do to him?"

In the faint light dripping through the cracks in the curtains, he could see Addie cringe and bury her head deeper into the sofa cushion. "Will you shut up!? I have a migraine," she hissed through her teeth. "It's called empathy, Sherlock. He knows I'm not feeling well." She added, shooting the man a dirty look through half-lidded eyes.

"That's so _boring_! Change your energy output, you're going to depress my dog- who is he?" The last part Sherlock asked with a pointed glare as he tried to tug her upright and noticed that she smelled faintly of men's cologne that was certainly not her brother's and was fairly recent.

"How many times must I tell you? Bartholomew is _not _your bloody dog, Sherlock! And what the _hell_ are you going on about, '_who is he_'?"

With a look of challenge, he stared down his nose at her, narrowing to dangerous levels. "You've recently been in contact with a male, very close contact. You smell like your normal vanilla-lavender body wash and shampoo, but there is a decidedly masculine scent around you as if you've been in extremely close quarters with one, ie. writhing in their sheets and wearing their clothes. You have a headache which means, more than probably, alcohol had something to do with the situation and you're generally sour disposition tells me you're regretting what happened. Furthermore, he started being _my_ dog when he accepted me into his life and nothing and no one is going to tell me the contrary."

With a huff of annoyance and having managed to lower her eyebrows away from her hairline, where they had taken refuge during the deduction, Addie sat up. Promptly after, she balled her right hand into a fist and jammed it into his left shoulder with impressive force, leaving him nursing the spot gingerly while he muttered darkly under his breath. "I suffer from migraines. I felt one coming down and started getting chills while I was at laboratory. A colleague lent me his sweater. A male colleague, not that it's _any_ of your business."

"I knew it! You were out doing God-knows-what with that—"

"He's _gay_."

Sherlock stopped his rant, already hallway through pacing the apartment, only to turn on his head and stare at her. "Oh."

"Yeah." She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hands and groaned. "You know, for a such a great genius at deduction, you suck at deducing. A lot. I would say 'Keep your day-job', but…" she trailed off into the thought, the corner of her mouth rising just a little bit in a smirk.

"Oh, come off it!" He growled, dropping unceremoniously on the sofa next to her, momentarily stiffing when she dropped her head onto his lap.

She pouted, and pointed to her head, "Fix it!"

"Take a pain pill. What do you mean _fix it_," he mumbled under his breath a little further, trying as much as he could not to look at the pouting face and green eyes the size of saucers, begging him to help in the most innocent and child-like of ways. She had definitely taken a page or three from Bart's manipulation manual. The moment his eyes landed back on hers, he let out a growl that encompassed everything he felt at being bested. "Fine, give me a moment." He went into his Mind Palace and retrieving the exact spots of pressure that would melt the pain. He stretched his fingers out before delving them into her hair, recently having had its roots colored to cover the blond hair she really had. For a few seconds the man fumbled though her mess of glossy curls before gently applying pressure to different points on her scalp. His fingers went in minute circles and it was not long before she let out a sigh of content.

"See, you knew how to fix it. You always know how to fix it." She closed her eyes and relaxed into the sensation. " I was thinking of the collection of fingers you have in your kitchen," she remarked as if it were perfectly normal to do so.

"Yes. About?"

"Have you ever considered taking samples and placing them into a semi-solid matrix gel? They'll keep at the exact conditions you want them in, so you don't have to worry about people moving them or throwing them out, they're easily observable under your microscope, they can be stored a lot easier and you don't have a completely unappetizing mess of fingers in a pickle jar on your kitchen table. You could even eat on there!"

"Won't they lose integrity after a while inside the gel? Plus, I'm trying to factor in decomposition, how am I supposed to do that if it's encapsulated?"

"It's semi-solid and with the right proportion of agarose to core materials it can be breathable and oxygen-transferable."

"Would it be reliable?"

"If I make it, it will."

Sherlock laughed, "You're very sure of yourself, I see."

"Yep," she popped the 'p'. "And, unlike some people, when I advertise myself as the best, I actually know what I'm doing. I don't guess half the time."

He stopped his ministrations on his scalp and tugged at her hair. "Not funny."

Addie giggled madly and sat up, away from his fingers and their ability to tug her curls. "Oh, contrary, Mr. Holmes, very funny. Now come on, gels don't make themselves." With much better spirits, she sprung from the sofa and teetered off towards the kitchen. She had taken a few supplies home from work and laid them out on the island, and opened up the cupboards to reveal Sherlock's stash of body parts.

"Where did you get those?" He asked both alarmed and curious.

Addie smiled as she put her hair up in a bun and slowly began to turn on lights in the flat. "You're not the only one who can figure out where people stash their spare keys." She rolled up the sleeves of her thermal shirt and starting heating water baths to get the gels started. "Here," she began as she papered the island and set the body parts for Sherlock to use, "take samples from your body parts and label them down so we can encapsulate them. You can keep the jars for a few weeks and if you like how the gels are turning out, you can scrap them." She handed him a scalpel and a marker while turning her attention to the gel trays.

At one point in their quiet work, Bart decided that it was a good idea to make off with a couple of fingers. Addie gently tried to coax him into giving them up, but at the moment she tried to pry the digits from his maw, he took off into another direction. She had groaned and given up in the endeavor, thinking, instead, to finish the last batch of gels left to encapsulate while Sherlock dealt with the beast.

"Bartholomew, give me those fingers right this moment!" He demanded, as if he were scolding a small child. Bart looked mildly contrite and lowered his head, slowly crawling towards the man on his belly. "That's right, come to Daddy." He could hear Addie snort from the kitchen while she wiped down the island and put away all the instruments. "Shush, you harpy!" He grated over his shoulder before turning back to Bart. "Yes, my good little boy, you are. Good Barty," he cooed, having the dog's face between his hands and prying open his jaw. "Uh-oh"

Addie, wiping her hands on a towel after washing them turned to Sherlock with narrowed gaze. "What '_uh-oh'_?" She saw in horror as Sherlock raised a single severed finger, fished from Bart's mouth. "Oh, bloody hell. Tell me he didn't!"

"Alright, I won't. Although, he most definitely did."

The waiting room of the Veterinary Hospital was brimming with animals nervous about the fireworks displays that had been happening and cases of holiday food poisoning, Addie and Sherlock, however, felt entirely awkward sitting in the waiting room after telling a, frankly terrified, nurse that their dog had ingested a severed finger. Adelaide was drumming her fingers on the thigh of her jeans and finding little fibers to pull at from her purple jumper while the detective played with the ends of the dark teal scarf Adelaide had given him for Christmas. He hated admitting it, but he did like the color and the fact he did not look like a priest or a mourner when he wore it. Bart was guided out a few moments later, tail wagging happily at the sight of the pair. The doctor assured him he was fine and handed them a small bag with what was left of the finger inside (because Sherlock, of course, needed to do an experiment with it). By the time they took the dog home, it was already bordering midnight.

Addie stretched out her muscles after she had peeled off her coat and scarf and set Bart loose in the flat. Sherlock had trudged to the corner where the cello sat on its stand, still well polished but with signs of use. By the fingerprints on the neck he could tell exactly what piece she had playing recently and was surprised to notice it had most likely been the one he had composed for her. Addie brought him a cup of tea while he silently observed the instrument and ran his fingers down the strings with measured care.

"Will you play?" he asked in a tone barely above a whisper.

The small smile that graced her features was not lost on him, and he figured the answer before she gave it. "For you, no." She took a careful sip from her hot chocolate before saying anything further. "If you can compose something so amazing as the piece you gifted me, I can only imagine how good you really are. I'm in no mood to make a fool of myself."

"Oh, come on! Don't tell me you're scared!" He said with a smirk, casually poking her in the sides, causing her to jump away and giggle.

"That might have worked if I were six, _Sherly_, but not now!" she replied, a bubble of laughter escaping her throat.

Sherlock put the teacup on the coffee table and chased Adelaide around the sofa, her chocolate abandoned at the table, as well. She shrieked with laughter and ducked away, trying to get behind Bart, who was yapping excitedly at the two and dancing around on his hind legs. "No one calls me Sherly and gets away with it, dearest Adelaide!"

"Sherly! Sherly! Sherly! Sherly!" She yelled over her shoulder, clambering over the back of the sofa with some effort and trying, in vain, to get some distance between them. "Damn you and your long legs!" He was hot on her heels and captured her wrists just a second shy of the distinct pops signaling the fireworks marking the New Year.

"How traditional are you?" The detective asked, out of breath.

An eyebrow slowly rose in question to this inquiry. "Um. Well, I guess that depends on what tradition you're talking about."

His cheeks were tinted pink, by exercise and embarrassment as he stuttered out, "Well, it's midnight. On New Year's Day, and people usually, well—"Her lips on his was enough of an explanation of her understanding.

"Happy New Year, Sherlock."

With a grin, her seemingly weak friend had tossed her over his shoulder and deposited her on the chair beside the cello. Recovering his tea, he sat on the floor in front of her and waited expectantly. With a roll of her eyes, she took the instrument and its bow and went through the motions of Sherlock's piece. It was a slow, mellow tune sprinkled with bright-noted interludes. He thought it suited her.


	5. Perspective

[Author's note: So, this chapter is a little different. It's written in first person perspective and you'll see why. I hope you don't hate it (I really do)! Thanks to and silverdragontear for reviewing. Keep that feedback up! Tell me, do you think Sherlock and Addie should stay just friends or do you want them to get into a few awkward, emotional situations? Let me know! I still own nothing, but the OC's. But if I did, I would write Addie and Sir Bartholomew Barkington into the show and watch chaos ensue. See ya!]

I wake up because the bed is shaking. My eyes open half-way to see my bestest friend in the whole wide world fumbling out of bed. On most days they looked worse for wear, and generally hated the sound of the alarm clock (as do I), but today it was a particularly hard sunrise. However, for me, there are only smiles and caresses.

"G'morning, Bartholomew. Trust you slept well," my best friend, who other humans seem to call _'Addie'_ says before I follow her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

Today was going to be an awesome day! The sun was starting to slip through those light gray curtains in a blindingly white blaze. I sat down patiently at my bowl, waiting for my dearest human to pour me some of that really good nibbles and make herself some tea. I don't like tea. I had some once and was sick for days, but it seems to pick her up in the early mornings. She usually has coffee right afterwards, which probably accounts for the amount of jitters she has later during the day. The sound of the clinking nuggets of yummy, gray food cause my tail to go all crazy. Honestly, I was going to have to have a conversation with it again later. This cannot keep happening. Sometimes it thumps so loudly on the floor that it's embarrassing. Thankfully Addie does not mind. She's good with things like that.

While I wolf down my food, I pay close attention to everything that Addie is telling me. Sometimes I think she's lonely. She doesn't talk to anyone else as much as she talks to me. That's how I know I'm also _her_ best friend in the world. She tells me about everything: what she has planned for her day, how her work is going, who annoyed her the most, what type of shows she wants to watch on the television later, everything. I don't mind hearing about it all. In fact, I love the fact that she tells me everything and anything under that big gray sky to me, but as much as I would like, I can't seem to say anything she understands back. Every time, though, she gives me the brightest smiles, pats my head, tells me I'm a good boy and continues whatever she was doing. And I am a good boy. I'm only ever out in time-out if I break something or eat something that I wasn't supposed to, and even then, it's never for a lone time. She always believes me when I tell her I'm sorry and cry. That's because I am always honest. I finish my bowl and take a large slurp of water from the container in the corner. BY the time I am done, my best friend is dressed and ready to go to work and leaves me a million puzzles filled with snacks for me to play with until she gets back.

"I promise I will be back early, Barty. You be a good boy for me and don't give Sherlock much grief. I know he's been stealing you every day after I go to work. Ok? Good boy. I love you," I wag my tail and give her hand a lick and tell her that, of course I will behave and I love her, too.

I am extremely excited when she mentions that man with the funny name. He's my new friend. I love him, already. He's different from most other people. I can see it when he talks to anyone else. He usually is very prickly when he talks to the other humans, and is not very happy to see them, but when he sees me—well, that's a different story. It would be enough to tell you that he has a voice just. For. Me. I will swear it on the juiciest, meatiest bone you can find that that fact is true. When he talks to me it sounds entirely different than when he talks to anyone else. It's higher, and calmer, and sweeter, and it makes my tail go all crazy again. I met him not that long ago, but he already tells me that I can call him '_Daddy'_ and that I am his good boy. Usually only Addie tells me that. I think it's brilliant that someone else does now, too. Right on time, the door swings open, and I bound to my new friend and greet him promptly.

"Oh, good morning, Sir Bartholomew. Are you ready to go?" I immediately reply, and I can hear my bark echoing against the pretty gray walls of the flat. He attaches my leash and lets me lead him to his own flat where the nice old lady, my short friend and the lady with the nice smile are all drinking their tea. My new friend, Sherlock, tosses my toys around the flat and lets me off the leash. I set off to find them and pull out all the little snacks from inside them.

"You not only break into her apartment, you steal her dog, as well. Good job, Sherlock!" My short friend tells my new friend, and I bark to tell him that I don't mind leaving the empty flat for a few hours until Addie comes home.

"He doesn't mind. It's just for a few hours until Addie comes home," my new friend says. Honestly, it's like we're mentally connected.

The lady with the nice smile tosses me some sausage. I look over to Sherlock, anxiously waiting for the verdict of whether or not I can have it. When he nods yes, I can barely contain my excitement. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest as I chew on the gift. The nice older lady has set me a bowl of water at one side of the room for when I get thirsty later, and I bump my head to her leg to thank her. My guardians really do have the best friends ever. They are always so nice to me and play with me and let me lounge around on the fluffy carpet. Soon, though, my short friend and the lady with the nice smile have to go to their jobs and the older lady says she needs to go somewhere called a _shop_. It's just me and my new friend, again. I don't mind it. Not only does he have his very own voice for me, he tells me secrets. Secrets he doesn't tell anyone else, and makes me promise I won't tell anyone. Like how he thinks the police man is a bit of a dolt, but has a good heart. Or that the lady that smells like dead squirrels needs to tamper down that desperate attempt to portray her unsatisfactory relationship with the freak who looks exactly like him and accept the fact that, while she's not over him and never going to happen, dating that dolt is not a placebo. Whatever that means. I always keep my promise.

"Come on, Barty!" My new friend calls from the door of the bathroom. It was bath time, it seemed. I wasn't all that excited about it, even though I liked bath time, but my best friend and my new friend never talked to each other about bath time. They were both bathing me on alternate days. I was getting a bath every single day! Even the snooty poodle that lived down the street was giving my shiny, oatmeal and honey-scented coat odd looks. Still, I jumped into the tub, spotting some new, gray tennis balls waiting for me inside to play while my new friend scrubbed me clean. He also opened my mouth and rubbed my teeth with a bristly little brush and had started to add a funny powder to my food so that I wouldn't eat my own business. I was going to stop anyway. He wouldn't let me lick his face if I kept that up. It was a tough decision, but I wanted to do it for my new daddy.

I was sitting dutifully on top of a towel on the tiled bathroom floor when the trill of one of those talk-boxes made my ears twitch. Sherlock looked at the little screen with one corner of his mouth pulled up. I was curious at this. His finger swiped at the screen and he raised the little box to his ear. "Hello, Adelaide," he said, and my tail shook excitedly and I pawed the floor expectantly. "I am quite well, thank you for asking. And yourself?" He looked a little confused by this, and his cheeks were turning a little gray as he cautiously answered the question. He was probably surprised. I had heard him talk on his chatty-box before and it was never more than a short exchange, never about himself. "Bart is fine. Yes, I brought his toys. Of course he's behaving, he's my good little boy." I told him that I was indeed, his good little boy, and he turned to bare his teeth at me in a smile. "Yes, I will. You have a…er…nice day as well, Adelaide."

I took my nap after lunch, and Sherlock gave me some terrible draught that he said would rid me of worms. I didn't know I was at risk of catching them, especially since I think that worms are gross and I won't eat them, but I swallowed the gunk. It tasted bitter and I wanted spit it up, but my new friend promised me a biscuit if I took the whole thing. I did. It was a thing of principle. There was a _biscuit_ involved. When I woke up, my best friend in the world was in Sherlock's flat. I bounded up to her and gave her many kisses and head bumps and yipped and told her how much I missed her all day, even though I was with my new friend. She was so glad to see me. She smiled and congratulated me on how well I behaved and tossed me a tennis ball for me to fetch. She was on the sofa with my new friend and they were talking about something or other while Sherlock plucked at that tiny thing with strings that makes sounds for me to sing along to.

My new friend did not seem so stiff around my best friend in the world. His shoulders slumped forward a little further than usual, and he leaned back into the cushions a little more. My best friend in the world was a little better, too. She talked to this new daddy a lot more than other people, and she didn't have to bump into them in the street for her to do so. She had voluntarily come to get me, even when she knew Sherlock would happily walk me back in an hour or two and was drinking coffee with him while I took my nap. This fact made me happy. My two favorite humans in all of the whole world called London got along well. My best friend put her coffee down on the table along with a mess of papers before she turned to rest her head on my new friend's lap. He muttered a comment about whether or not she was comfortable, to which she laughed, and he put away his wailing instrument before his fingers were lost inside the fur on top of her head. I lay down on the fluffy carpet in front of them, watching their ever movements with great interest.

"You know, you can learn how to do this yourself," he said with a smile, even though she had her eyes closed.

"What else would I do with you, if not this?" She responded, and his smile grew.

"We could, I don't know, interact like normal human beings."

She smiled, too, and peeked at him through one open eye. "I thought you said human interaction was boring."

"You hate everyone as much as I do, so I wouldn't feel guilty when I dismissed you from my presence."

"Sharing your disinterest for the world does not rid me of emotions. I will _still_ think you're an idiot if you throw me out."

"It will be a cross I will have to bear." She slapped him blindly, catching him in the chest while the low, rumbling tone of his voice let out a chuckle. "I didn't say it would be a particularly difficult cross. Although, now that I think about it…"

"I hate you so much."

"Than storm out."

"You have my dog." She explained plainly. "And this feels far too good to move."

"That's what she said."

My best friend's eyes burst open all of the sudden and she swallowed down a laugh. "Sherlock!," she exclaimed. "Did you just make, dare I say, a sex joke?"

"Why is everyone so surprised that I know _anything_ about sex?"

"Well," my best friend looked guilty, "because you never show any real interest to any particular person, and—"

"Woman. Any particular woman. I like women. Please note, and move on."

"Oh, I know you like women."

Sherlock scrunched up his face in confusion. He looked funny that way. "You do?"

"Yes. You take a little longer to look me in the eye when I wear low-cut top." His cheeks turned that dusky shade of gray again, and made a funny noise in the back of his throat. "As I was saying, you never really give any sort of indicators that might belie your interest in any type of relationship other than friendship, so people assume you are asexual."

"I don't think that's true. I give plenty of signs."

My best friend laughed. "Of course you do, Sherlock. You're a giant, wind-up sex machine. How could I have missed it before? You're a regular Don Juan."

"You're a particular brand of mean, Adelaide Villalobos."

A big grin broke out on her face, her dark gray eyes looking back at his lighter gray eyes with something akin to mischief. "Oh, it's all just for you, Mr. Holmes." I could tell from her voice that she meant it.

He cleared his throat and blinked quickly a lot of times. "Well… er… I should certainly hope so." I could tell he meant it, too.

I stood and my tail started wagging again at the thought that they would be new best friends and we could all be best friends together, and stay that way, even when I was gone. I told Addie that I was ready to go home, and she scrambled out of the sofa at my insistence. "Yes, yes. I know. Let's get home. You can come be a bother tomorrow," she said good naturedly. She clicked on my leash and gathered my things and hers.

"Addie?" She turned towards my new friend's voice; I wanted patiently with her. Sherlock seemed to surprise her when his arms made a loop around her and hugged her tight. "Thanks for letting Bart come over. Not that you had much of a choice, but I was feeling lonely today." Before she could reply, he pressed his mouth to the top of her head and turned back to his room, not before patting me on the head.

"Sure thing! Good night, Sherlock!" She called after him before we went home.

Addie was in her favorite pair of pajamas. She yawned and stretched before tucking herself into bed and I hopped in right after, settling myself down by her feet to keep them warm. She switched off the lamp beside her bed and muttered a sleepy good night to me before I heard her breathing even out. Giving a great big yawn and turning onto my back, I followed my best friend dutifully into dreamland. Today was a great day.


	6. Tea

[Author's Note: Thank you all for following and favorite-ing this story! I am getting in a quick chapter. Maybe I'll post another one tonight, if I have a little more free time. However, keep reviewing the story (that little box makes me hear music) and letting me know what you think. I own nothing but the OC's, but I'd love to kidnap Sherlock one day.]

221B Baker street was full of people speaking in hushed tones to each other. The main attraction, though, was the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, arguing in hissed whispers with his brother, Mycroft. The latter had a smug look on his slightly frown line-marked face as he taunted his younger sibling for the millionth time that day. "Oh, Sherlock, do not kid yourself. You know you have no cases and that you are in no other way busy, so please drop the act and take Mummy and Daddy for the rest of the day." The younger Holmes fumed; his cheeks were stained red with anger, his expression softening only when he looked at his parents out of the corner of his eye. He loved his parents. Really, he did, but sometimes it was difficult for him to get into their good graces when Mycroft was so very good at being a complete hypocrite.

"Oh, dear. I don't know how you live like this. This place is so dark and stuffy, and you have so many things lying around. Why don't you get yourself a nice little place like Mycroft? I'm sure he could help you find a location you'll love," his darling mother said with a concerned and loving tone, all the while attempting to smooth down the ebony curls on the young man's head.

"Yes, why don't I help you get out of this," Mycroft gazed around in disdain, "charming place. If you would just let me get you knighted, you'd be up and about higher places." Sherlock made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, pulling out the mobile out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. His fingers tapped at the keys in quick succession before he buried the device back into his trouser pocket.

Addie stopped typing on her computer keys to glance at her own phone. It had been quiet all day, and there had been no unscheduled visit from Sherlock, so she assumed that that was him now with some odd request or outlandish demand. _Come to 221B, immediately, if convenient. SH_ She snorted at the message and set her phone aside, resuming the writing of her new article before the phone pinged again. _If not convenient, then make it bloody convenient and come anyway. SH_ "Oh, as if, grouchy!" She grumbled, once again trying to grasp at the thread of thought she was following. The phone pinged once more. _I'm sorry. That was very rude of me. I really, really, reaaaallyyy need your help, Addie. I need you to pretend you are my client, looking for a lost relative. Wear your green dress. Keep your glasses on. SH_ The last part came in two separate messages. Addie grinned, pushing the glasses on her nose further up, and letting out a frustrated sigh. He did say he was sorry, and God knows he would just keep messaging her until she gave in. With a great big groan, she dragged herself out of her desk chair and into the bathroom to change.

The doorbell of 221B rang, and the door was answered by Mrs. Hudson. The landlady looked confused, but a quick explanation of the situation was enough for her to keep up the ruse and lead Adelaide into the living room of Sherlock's flat. She stepped inside, black high heels clicking softly in the transition of hardwood floors to carpet, clad in a hunter green dress and hair pulled into an elegant half bun. The glasses and slapdash of makeup made her look like a respectable woman, and she held herself with all the respect and good manners that she had learned from the consulting detective. Clearing her throat delicately, all eyes on the room turned towards her, making her momentarily want to jump out of her skin. She kept her eyes trained on, Sherlock, for lack of a more comforting visual and enjoyed him flap his mouth open once or twice before inelegantly announcing to Mycroft, "Client! See I have a client!"

The leader of the British Empire scoffed. "Oh, Sherlock. Please, restrain yourself from being dim. I am well aware that is your neighbor. You don't honestly think anything happens in Baker Street without my knowing, do you?" Mycroft said this loud enough for their parents to perk up and observe the young lady. They took in her stance and features and whispered to themselves for a few moments before Addie came to a sudden realization.

"You bloody bastard," she hissed at Sherlock in a quiet tone, saccharine smile permanently attached to her face. "This isn't your escape plan. This is your show and tell competition with Mycroft!"

Sherlock offered his arm with a wicked grin, taking in the image of a baffled Mycroft, leaning against the mantle. "Well, if it were a competition, I'd be winning, don't you think?" His proud response caused Addie to laugh and take the proffered arm, stepping in time towards the Holmes patrons in a friendly fashion. "Mum, Dad, this is my neighbor and friend, Adelaide Villalobos."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. Sherlock has told me so much about you," she greeted with soft tones as she shook each of their hands, in turn.

"He has?" "I have?" Sherlock and Mycroft inquired at the same time, causing Addie to discreetly jab the heel of her shoe into her friend's toe, causing him to rectify. "Yes, of course I have! All I ever talk about!" He seemed unsure with the response and instead turned to his play with the skull displayed on the table.

"Would you like a cup of tea? I'm sure you need it after the trip here. And having to deal with the boys being in the same room for more than a minute." The comment earned her a peal of laughter and an assent to the offer. Addie turned towards the kitchen, not before grabbing both siblings by the collar of their shirts and dragging them along with her.

"Unhand me at once, Miss Villalobos! What is the meaning of this?!" Mycroft hissed urgently, righting his collar and seemingly squirming at the fact that another human being had been in direct contact with him. Sherlock seemed to take the route of silence, figuring the less he said, the less trouble he's be in.

Putting the kettle on, Addie turned to the boys. "Mycroft, another peep out of you and I will scald you with the tea water." She turned to the younger of the two. "And you; you can ask for favors without some elaborate ruse to get me here. Frankly, it's getting ridiculous!" She busied herself momentarily with serving the cream in its container and preparing five cups to be brought over to the living room. "You're both ridiculous. They're your parents, not bloody lepers. You," she pointed at Mycroft, "are by no means the _special_ one, or the _smart_ one. Stop trying to make your brother look bad and pawning your folks off on Sherlock after you promised them to take them somewhere. And you," her finger shifted to the detective, "stop caring about what Mycroft does. He's a prick. We all know he's a prick. He's probably going to continue to be a prick. Ignore him like you do the rest of the world."

"Madam, I hardly think that you are in a position to pass any sort of judgment. I do not endeavor to make my little brother look like a fool. He does that all by himself. I'm sure he seems smart to you, but compared to all of the population of London, he is a genius. No offense," he finished, checking the cufflinks on his French cuff shirt.

Sherlock managed to capture both of Addie's arms just as she flung towards Mycroft with a deathly snarl ripping at her vocal chords. "No! Addie, this is not the time. I don't think it's wise to physically attack the British government."

"He called me stupid! I will rip his arms off and force feed them to him!" She growled, still trying to swipe at a, frankly, terrified Mycroft.

"Oh, let her go, brother of mine. I highly doubt the damsel could cause any real harm. That is the way of women, isn't it?"

The detective's jaw fell open and the woman in his arms thrashed anew. "How the hell would you know? Let's experiment, shall we?" And with that, he let the girl free.

* * *

Mycroft sat in the spare armchair holding a bag of ice to his cheek while he grumpily sipped at his tea. "You really must be more careful, Mycroft! Slipping and bumping into the kitchen counter is a nasty accident waiting to happen. Thank Heavens that Adelaide was there to help you in the fall. Although I'm sure those knuckles hurt a dreadful amount," the matron of the Holmes family coddled in the way mothers do.

Addie grinned, squished into the other armchair along with its owner and waved off the concern. "Oh, he just got excited to go fetch the biscuits. He rather likes them," she replied with a sweet smile. "Really, dear Mycroft, how clumsy of you!"

"Sherlock gained four pounds!" Mycroft interjected with a half snarl.

Their father gave his youngest the once over and shrugged, not finding anything different in the boy. Adelaide, however, laughed and turned towards Sherlock and made a spectacle. "See, I told you they'd notice. I've been getting him to eat a little better every now and then. Doesn't he look _spectacular_ with that _extra weight_?" She was staring straight at Mycroft.

"Fantastic!"

"That's what you need, Mycroft! A charming girl like Addie to keep you in check," his mother chided, and Sherlock smiled and winked at Addie, fist bumping her in the process. "What is it you do, Addie, dear?"

"I work for a private laboratory, studying new methods of drug delivery to treat difficult diseases. It's frightfully interesting work."

"Oh, and smart! I love meeting Sherlock's friends, but he usually doesn't allow us much time with them. Such a shy thing," Addie snorted a bit into her tea, covering it quickly with a cough. Her companion gave her a dirty look at this.

"John and Mary are so busy with the wedding that I wouldn't want to interrupt their plans so they could indulge me with meeting my parents."

"_I_ was busy," Addie hissed into his ear, and received a sharp nudge of his elbow into her ribs.

"My little boy is so thoughtful!" She checked her watch and gasped. "Oh, is that the time! Mycroft, we must be going if we're going to catch the show! Won't you join us at the opera?" The woman pleaded as she rearranged the dark blue afghan around her shoulders and ushered her husband to her feet. Sherlock flopped his mouth like a fish out of water for a few seconds before Addie had to rescue him, yet again.

"Oh, I wish we could, but we made plans with John and Mary to help with the wedding plans. Sherlock is in charge of logistics and I am to help Mary with picking a nice theme and venue."

"What a pity! Next time we are in town, we are definitely going to be going out together, young lady. I really _do_ love meeting Sherlock's friends. He's such a good little boy." Addie smiled, her head tilting curiously to the side in recognizing where Sherlock got all the cutesy little expressions for when he talked to Bartholomew. He was repeating all the sweet little things his mother would tell him. The thought warmed Addie and she smiled at the red-face dork she called a friend and went through the motions of saying good bye to the Holmes' and promising to stay in touch. Mycroft tried to stand as far away from the girl as possible, and they disappeared out the door.

Sherlock face planted on the sofa once the door was closed. Adelaide went about tidying the room and putting the teacups in the kitchen and giving them a wash. "You owe me something pretty for this!" She called over the water from the faucet.

The detective raised his face just enough for his words not to sound mumbled. "It's on the kitchen table!" He hollered back.

Giggling, Addie turned to look over her shoulder and saw that there was, in fact, a small box wrapped in the same dark red paper that he used at Christmas. "I definitely have trained you well." She finished washing the cups, toweled them dry and put them away before taking the package from the table with a grin. After discarding the paper, she walked into the living room with the box, settling down on Sherlock's armchair and kicking off her high heels. It was a plain black box, and for safety's sake, Addie lifted the lid towards Sherlock's face-planted form in order to avoid any paper snakes that might be hidden inside. Instead, the contents inside tinkled to the floor. Addie bent over at once to retrieve it, closing her fingers around the cool metal of a charm bracelet. The beads were in dark jewel tones and from the band hung small charms blazoned with her initials, an intricate Celtic paw print, a microscope, and Bohr's model of the atom. "It's beautiful, Sherlock. Really."

"I thought you'd like it," he mumbled, crossing his arms and resting his head on them, facing her.

"Thank you." She held out the bracelet. "Help me." Sherlock shuffled out of the sofa, took a knee next to the armchair and fumbled a moment or two with the clasp before snapping it shut. Adelaide narrowed her eyes at the consulting detective, grabbing his wrist as he pulled away. "This doesn't mean all is forgiven. I still had to abandon my work to be _domestic_ with you." She used the same expression he had once, and stared him down.

He had the decency to look half-way embarrassed before his face broke out in an honest smile. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, Adelaide."

"I'm serious, Sherlock. I made myself up in record time, I tortured myself with those heels and tugged on this ridiculous dress!"

"I like the dress." He interjected quickly, furrowing his brow. "I think it makes you look sophisticated." Addie simply rolled her eyes and watched Sherlock pull on his coat and knot his scarf around his neck. "So? Dinner? You don't want to waste the effort, do you?" He challenged, forcing her and her proud self to pull on her heels, grab her own coat and brush past him down the stairs. "Does this mean you forgive me?" He called after her after a beat.

"Only if you get me drunk enough, Sherlock!"


	7. And Cake

[Author's Note: So, this is the other chapter I had for today. It's a companion chapter to 'Tea', hence the name '& Cake'. It is a bit of a filler chapter, setting up for the next two, which will probably be a Valentine's themed fiasco and John and Mary's wedding, respectively. So, please read and review. I own nothing but the OC's and a Netflix account that tells me I've watched seasons 1 and 2 FAR TOO MUCH. ]

Dinner was remarkable. Adelaide had convinced Sherlock to take her to Angelo's because she wanted some of their garlic knots, and the owner was only too happy to accommodate his favorite guest. The detective groaned, feeling his neck and ears flush every time the restaurant's owner stepped forwards to ask them if everything was alright or if they wanted more candles for the table. Addie had taken everything with a smile, but enjoyed poking fun at the detective by taking his hand when a waiter passed by, or leaning far too close when she was telling him something irrelevant. This made the man beg the owner to bring them something, _anything_ infused with enough alcohol to drop an elephant.

It took four glasses of wine, three shots and a cocktail to make Addie completely dependent on Sherlock. In her drunken stupor, she had told him that she wasn't really mad at him and she had enjoyed knocking Mycroft against the table far more than any human being should enjoy another's suffering. She also started to tell him about each and every major life event she had experienced. They were half-way through her teens when the tall man suggested that they head back to Baker Street. Mercifully, she was quiet during the cab ride, though he had to slap her hand more than once because she would tug on his locks and ask how anyone could have hair that dark when their skin was so fair. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't have minded, but she was tugging at them rather hard, and had come away with more than a strand or two of ebony in more than one occasion.

Addie was able to set a vinyl on the old record player and with delicate precision dropped the needle onto the record. At once the music started to flow through the room, and she swayed in erred circles for as long as she could before Sherlock had to catch her, lest she fell. It surprised the young man how well she managed to walk in her heels even though she was so far out of it she could barely remember how to open a doorknob.

"Sherly?"

"Shelock." His tone grew slightly acid at the rectifying of his name. He put down two cups of tea, fixed the way she liked it on the coffee table in front of her.

"That's what I said. Hey, Sherly," he rolled his eyes and nodded for her to continue. "Your parents are really nice."

"Yes, I am aware that they are very good people."

"I like them. They're like huggable versions of you."

He laughed, and acted offended. "Are you saying I'm not huggable?"

"No, you're as huggable as a porcupine. You just need to rub it the right way before you hug them."

Sherlock did a spit-take, spraying tea all over his trousers, which he hastily tried to brush away. "I'm sure you didn't mean it to sound like that. If not, you learned your social protocols for friendship from some unsavory people."

"I like unsavory things. Like cake. And backrubs." She giggled at the last part and gave him what he supposed was meant to be a coy smile.

"You need to drink your tea and get some sleep."

Addie's demeanor changed completely. "Today is a bad day," she said with surprising mental clarity and for a moment she looked like she was going to start tearing up. Instead, her humor did a 360 and she was back to being a bubbly drunk. "Do I look pretty?" She asked, bolting away from the tea and doing another twirl, the skirt of her dress flaring out from the force.

"I should say so. Then again, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impression, influences and role models." Addie frowned, feeling as if there was something she was not getting, and was not happy not knowing. Her friend waved off what he had said and rectified. "Yes, you are very pretty."

Satisfied, she took his wrists and pulled him towards her. "Dance?"

"Yes." Although she was mostly interested in twirling around in her dark green dress, Sherlock had managed to lead her into a few dances, quietly trying to convince her that it was time to go to sleep, but the woman was not allowing him any purchase on the idea. He was fascinated to find that his friend could tango, drunk or otherwise, and that while her wide green eyes were not distracted with chasing the lights of the flat as they swirled around her or a momentary sound, he could get a very good dance out of her. It had taken a very slow dance to lull her into a lower gear and exhaust her enough to consider sleeping. It didn't take long to coax her out of her dress and heels and into a pair of his nightclothes , and into his bed. She lay curled on her side under the covers while Sherlock fumbled with his shoes and climbed into the vacant side.

"Molly Hooper would kill to be me right now."

"Molly has Tom. Why would she be interested in being in my bed?"

"Indeed. Why would anyone be interested in being in your bed?"

The man scoffed, shoving her aside in a playful manner. "You can go bear the cold back to your flat, you know!"

"Oh, I'm only joking! I'm sure you're a _stud_," she barely contained the giggle that bubbled up her throat.

"How would _you_ know?"

"How would _you_?"

"Because… because," he spluttered to find an explanation that did not embarrass him to the most extreme and failed. "I'm not _completely_ inexperienced, despite what you and the whole human population may think."

"Oh, I know. I just like watching you struggle for words." She giggled loudly at the sight of Sherlock's red ears and cheeks. The man narrowed his eyes like a bird of prey at the woman.

"How can you possibly know that?" He challenged, she beckoned him closer, and she cupped her hand over his ear as if she were going to tell him a secret. "You dance like you know what you're doing." She was out like a light a moment later.

* * *

The next night, the door leading to Sherlock's bedroom creaked open with a tiny whine. The detective however, was nowhere near awake, and continued to mutter in his sleep about impossibly random things. Addie silently tip-toed along the floor. She was careful not to trip over the stacks of books and discarded articles of clothing. Thankfully Sherlock owned little clothing; otherwise she would have had to launch an expedition just to get to the bedside. The clock on the far wall chimed midnight, its tones ringing through the relative calm of 221B. Lifting the corner of the crisp, white bed sheet, she slipped into the vacant side of the bed and poked the man's bare torso.

"Sherlock, wake up!"

"No." He replied in a tone that belied his sleeping form. Apparently it was an automated message he had taught himself to say when someone interrupted the few hours of sleep he got.

"Oi, come on! Wake up, mate!"

"No!"

Adelaide shook his shoulder gently, satisfied to watch and hear the detective take a deep breath, like he was coming out of his REM cycle and open his eyes just the tiniest bit. "You smell like cake. Why do you smell like—" He was completely awake now. "Why do you smell like cake?!"

With a wide grin, she burrowed into the warm folds of the blankets and sighed. "Because I made you a cake."

Measuring his words, Sherlock scooted a little further from her comfortable form. "Why would you do that?"

"Why does anyone do anything? I wanted cake, I made cake. I made cake in your kitchen." Trying to stave off the shiver running down her spine, Adelaide tugged at the bed sheet, trying to pull it up to her chin. Sherlock was desperately trying to keep a tight grasp on the linen.

"Addie, I really wouldn't do that if I were you."

"I'm cold! Be nice and give me some of your cover—"

"I'm not wearing anything!" He bellowed over her insistence. The genius was beginning to feel very uncomfortable, both physically and mentally.

The sheet was immediately dropped on her end. "Holmes, what the hell?!"

"You walked into _my_ bedroom. Why is any of this my fault?"

"Invest in pajamas, you weirdo. You know I come into your apartment all the time. You come into my apartment, I'm aware of the fact, so I try to dress when I go to sleep, or at least lock the door." She shuffled away from Sherlock's body to the very edge of the bed. "Or at least let me live in the illusion that you're wearing something until I leave the room!"

"You're hardly one to talk; you sleep in your underwear!"

"Exactly! At least I—hold on, how do you know I sleep in my underwear? You've never woken me up in my bed _once_!"

Sherlock became tongue tied and busied himself with tying the sheet around his waist, cheeks flushed crimson. "Well, I was going to wake you, but you were indecent."

"Yeah, _that's_ a bloody fucking answer!" Addie shrieked back. She waved off his next rebuttal and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Whatever, put some clothes on and come have cake." She walked away, clad in her own sweat pants and t shirt pajamas off into the kitchen, mumbling something about 'boundary issues' under her breath.

The curly-haired man, now dressed in plaid pajamas and a dressing gown, yawned hugely, trudging miserably to the kitchen. He stopped to pat Bart of the head, the dog far more interested in licking the extra batter out of the bowl on the counter. He hopped up next to the hound and dove into the piece of Angel Food Cake with almond frosting that was handed to him. The first bite was like heaven, and he made a satisfied noise at the back of his throat before taking another. All the while, Adelaide pushed around her slice on the plate, every now and then licking the frosting off of her fork.

"What's wrong?"

"What? Oh, nothing. I guess it's more fun to make the cake than eat it."

Sherlock put the plate beside him and stared pointedly at his friend. "_Addie_."

"What? Can't I just make cake in peace? You go into my flat all the time and I don't pester you about it."

"I go into your flat because I'm lonely and bored and you have my dog. What's going on? Did someone die? Is a family member ill?"

Addie rolled her eyes and stuffed a hunk of sweet, spongy bread into her mouth. "Nope, and I don't have your dog, either. He's _ my_ dog."

"You made cake."

"Oh, _novel_ observation," she muttered sarcastically.

"It's not what you usually eat. You're a chocolate fiend. You wouldn't make Angel Food's cake. Even if you did plan to let Bart at the bowl, which you never do. You wanted to make something that you remembered from long ago. Something that at some point was comforting. Now, however, you can't even manage to shove it down your throat without feeling sick, as I can see from the heave you just tried to cover up."

Silence was the only answer for the consulting detective. The young woman had simply discarded the rest of her slice on the floor where Bart dutifully cleaned it up. "You never talk about your mother."

"There's nothing to say about my mother, and we're not talking about this anymore."

Sherlock sighed. He was fairly the woman had left her children with their father to pursue other career goals and it still irked her. "Fair enough. It is really good cake, though."

Addie laughed. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Wanna play _ding-dong dash_ with the cake at Mycroft's?"

She was suddenly very excited. "Oh yeah. "

The pair arrived at the doorstep of an over-the-top mansion in the outskirts of the city. The letters '_MH'_ were emblazoned on the double doors of the entrance, and there was no staff circulating the estate. Sherlock, quiet as sin, tip toed around the view of the cameras, depositing the cake on the top most step before he pressed the doorbell and scurried back to Addie, who was hiding in the bushes. They stifled their laughter, and tried to keep Bart from barking as they saw Mycroft Holmes in a pair of blue footie pajamas lean down to inspect the package on the doorstep. '_To the most illustrious man of Great Britain'_, it read in Addie's elegant scrawl across the top. They watched the elder Holmes pick up the parcel and greedily lift up an already cut piece of cake and bite into it. He wasn't expecting the ghost pepper chili flakes underneath the frosting, though, and he yelped in pain, running back inside to presumably fetch himself a glass of water. Sherlock and Addie laughed loudly, escaping the front gate of the premises and hailing the first cab they could find.

They had taken to the park, despite it being an ungodly hour in the morning, watching happily as Bartholomew spooked sleeping squirrels by barking up their trees and attempting to stave off the cold by grabbing the worst cup of coffee known to man and huddling close on a park bench.

"What about him?" Addie pointed to a person on the other side of the park.

"He's a drug dealer."

She scoffed. "What? You know that by the way he leans slightly to the left when he walks?"

"No, because he used to sell them to me." He answered with a cheeky grin.

"Oh. Shouldn't you say 'hello' then?"

"To a drug dealer?"

"Yes. To not be rude."

Sherlock laughed, his breath coming out in little puffy clouds in front of his mouth. "Your social protocols need revising. An awful lot. Why would I go greet the man who used to sell me drugs? Do you want me to buy some or—?"

"No, of course not. I just think it's rude to see someone you know and not say hi." At that moment, the man in question walked by their bench and offered Sherlock a handshake and a hello before going on his merry way. Adelaide could do nothing more than laugh.

"I hate when you're right."

"Then you must have an awful lot of hate inside you, Sherlock Holmes."

"You're not _always_ right, you know!"

"Just often enough, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock stared at Addie out of the corner of his eye. Even bundled up in her coat, scarf and gloves, she was shivering uncontrollably. He put an arm around her and rubbed the fabric of her coat to generate a little heat. "Your lips are starting to turn blue. We should go home."

Pouting those same blue lips, Adelaide groaned and huffed. "But I'm having fun! I want to watch the people do unspeakable things."

"Your face is an unspeakable thing!" He retorted with a grin, pulling up to her feet with him and dragging her all the way to 221B.


	8. Word

_[Author's Npte: Hiya! An awkward little chapter here for your reading pleasure. Let me know what you think in that review box! I love hearing from you and I wish I heard more. Anyway, I own nothing but the OC's and a can of soda. See you later!]_

_Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock_.

"Just open the bloody door, Sherlock!" Adelaide screeched, hair sticking out at odd angles as she peeked out her bedroom door.

_Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock_.

"For fuck's sake. I am not going to do you any favors today, Holmes! Use your bloody key like you do every time you barge into my flat and you have no ulterior motives other than stealing my dog."

_Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock_.

"Holmes! I will skin you aliv—Mary. Oh." Adelaide bellowed with a look of pure hatred on her face sas she ripped the door open, only to see the sweet Mary Morstan standing in her doorway, and not her petulant neighbor. "Sorry about that, Mare. I just—"

Mary grinned. "Having a little lover's spat with Sherlock, eh?"

Addie opened her eyes like a deer in the headlights., and shook her head convulsively. "Sherlock and I are not—"

"It happens a lot. I mean, it does in normal relationships. I can't imagine in a relationship with Sherlock," she explained further, smile testing the very limits of her skin.

"Wha—Really, Mary. I would rather hang myself than—"

"So, he's got a key to your flat, already, has he?"

"He stole my spare key. He uses it when he wants to get Bart, and –" Addie tried her best to remain calm, breathe deep and explain the situation, but Mary's mischievous expression made her want to pummel the gentle nurse into the ground.

"I would ask what you got him for Valentine's, but I'm clearly looking at it."

Adelaide froze, her eyes slowly traveling southward to find herself standing in the doorway, in her knickers. Yes, this was going to be a _promising_ day. "Mary, I was asleep, and I usually never answer the door like this."

"But you thought it was Sherlock. You two going to make it official, yeah?"

"I hate you, Mary." She said finally, red-faced and completely embarrassed. "I adore you, but I'm going to slap that smile off your face if you don't quit it." The last statement made Mary giggle, and with it, Addie turned on her heel and into her flat. Mary followed her, skipping inside with glee.

"Hurry up and get dressed. John and I made a little Valentine's day breakfast for all of you. The gang is all in 221B."

"I hate Valentine's!" She yelled from her bedroom, reluctantly pulling on some jeans and a black jumper, and running her hands through her hair to smooth it out.

"I know. It's kind of why we love doing it!"

* * *

"Good morning, Addie!" John greeted as he put down a plate of sausage on the table. The room was decorated in horrible shades of red, pink and cream, making Addie wrinkle her nose in disgust. Molly and Tom were attempting to inhale each other's faces in a corner while Lestrade looked just as miserable as Addie felt. Oh, a kindred spirit.

"I hate you, John."

The doctor chuckled, kissing her on top of the head before taking out the batch of bacon he was cooking out of the frying pan. "I do _not_ want to partake in your ridiculous expression of '_love_'!" Sherlock's sleepy, grumpy baritone reverberated through the kitchen as Mary poked him in the ribs and pushed him forward.

"Look who just woke up! Oh, and he matches Addie! Then again, he was matching her before I got him dressed, too." Mary grinned, kissing her fiancée on the lips and escaping Sherlock's range of movement.

"I will slap the smile off of your face, Mary Morstan." The offender grinned at Addie with a knowing look in her eyes. Addie threw a sausage at her head.

Greg looked up from his cup of coffee, rolling his eyes at the two couples in the room. "I understand that you are all very happy together, but all we three want to do is get pissed on our own, watch a movie and go to sleep. "

"Hear hear!" Addie cried, lifting her own cup of coffee in a toast.

"Yes, well, we're happy and we want to share the love. Now, everyone sit around the table." John finished setting the food on the table while Greg, Sherlock and Addie all occupied the three furthest seats. Molly and Tom sat to Addie's left while John and Mary sat to Greg's right.

"Why are the pancakes shaped like rear-ends?" Sherlock asked, lifting one up with his index and thumb and letting it fall noisily on his plate.

"They're hearts, Sherlock. You know, something fun!" Molly interjected as she was distractedly wiping off frosting off Tom's lips from a cupcake he had just bit into. Addie had taken a similar cupcake, and with the use of a knife had turned the little sugar letters that spelled 'LOVE YOU' into something far more offensive. Mary looked at her disapprovingly as she then proceeded to eat the vulgar cupcake.

"If you grope yourselves under the table one more time, I will use this knife to cut off both your hands," Addie growled, though her eyes were staring at her plate as she speared a sausage and shoved it into her mouth. Molly and Tom immediately straightened up and proceeded to eat while John and Greg chuckled at their expense. "Where's Mrs. Hudson?"

"On a date." John replied.

"Of course she is." Sipping from her coffee, she nudged Sherlock in the ribs and pointed at his untouched plate. He gave her a look of exasperation which she replied with one of cold-stone murder. The consulting detective took a bite of his 'rear-end' pancakes, chewing thoughtfully and swallowing before giving Addie a sarcastic smile. "What are those?" She referred to a pile of wrapped cylinders in the middle of the table.

"Valentine's crackers!" Mary replied, challenging Addie with her eyes.

"Why do those exist?" Greg asked gruffly, pushing his empty plate away.

"Because they're fun and they make all of you so miserable that we just had to buy them," John interjected for his bride to be before picking up a bright pink one and offering the other end to Sherlock. "Go on, pull."

"I'd rather swallow acid."

"Pull, or I will tell everyone about the can-opener incident." Sherlock reached over the table and pulled on the cracker while John gave him a smug smile. The taller of the two won the tug and he emptied the contents of the cracker on the table in front of him. A wind-up heart, a ridiculous red crown and a love poem tumbled out.

"This is the worst day of my life," he gasped out, as if the realization had just hit him. "Where's Bart?"

"On the sofa," Addie replied, chewing the last of her eggs with a sour look. No one stopped Sherlock from leaving the table, so she assumed it was safe to move.

"Where do you think you're going?" John asked, his grin stretching wide, obviously taking pleasure in her discomfort.

"The living room."

"You haven't opened your cracker." With a look that could cut steel, she stared down an unaffected John before ripping a cracker open and spilling the contents out of it. "You got the treasure map!"

"What?"

"We made a little treasure hunt and made it into a cracker. You have to go through with it now."

"No, I bloody don't!"

"After we spent all that effort making the riddles," Mary cut in, opening her eyes wide and making Adelaide's resolve melt into nothing. "You said you had the day off. You can take Sherlock and look for the present at the end."

"Please don't make me do this!" She whined. Mary upped the ante of her sad look and sniffled delicately, while John added a pleading look of his own.

"Sherlock! Get Bart and put your shoes on!"

* * *

"It's at the Chinese restaurant," Sherlock insisted, pointing down the street with a growl.

"It's under the park bench, you idiot!"

"Are you even pretending to look at the clues? It's clearly the restaurant!"

Bart was whining at their feet, shrinking against the dirt while they yelled at each other on the sidewalk. They were trying to decide where the clues led to first, but there seemed to be a problem. "You know what? You go look at the clues in a way you see fit, I'll read them in my own way and see who gets to the reward. Savvy?" She challenged, standing on her toes to raise herself to his eyes and giving him a deathly stare.

"FINE!"

"FINE!"

Addie dragged Bart along with her, following her card and disappeared from Sherlock's gaze. The consulting detective, on the other hand, looked at his mobile at a picture of the card, and headed off to the Chinese restaurant. He was delighted to find a fine young gentleman who handed him the next clue, leading him to the nearest tube station. That led him to the park (not the bench), Angelo's, the post office, and the bank. His reward was taped under the seat of a bus station, it's horrifying pink wrapping paper glistening in his hand in the dim light. With a smug swagger and smile, he walked to Baker street. In the distance he could see Adelaide coming towards him, Bart prancing around with delight and meeting him in the space between 221B and 219.

"Did your frankly ridiculously interpretations of the riddles grant you any satisfaction?" he smiled, knowing that the answer was a negative. His smile fell off of his face, however, when Addie pulled a package similar to his own from her pocket and held it in the air with a self-satisfied smile. "That's impossible!" He exclaimed, revealing his own treasure. Bart looked between them with curiosity, tilting his head at the terribly contradicting body language the two were exhibiting. They both ripped open their packages. Sherlock emptied the box first, revealing a card that was most certainly bought at a convenience store. "_Roses are red, violets are blue. It's only too easy to get rid of you. _I hate them. John's my best friend, Mary is a dear, and I wish them a slow and painful death."

Groaning, Addie opened her box, a similar card falling from it, as well. "_Violets are blue, roses are pretty. We got you to run wild around the whole city. _They're dead. They knew it was my day off, why would—" She stopped dead, realizing that there was something going on that she was sure was impossible, only to have Bart, who was wagging his tail excitedly at the door to her flat, confirm her suspicions. "The flat!"

"Why would they be in your flat?" Sherlock asked, following her up the steps and down the hall.

"Because it's my birthday!" She growled, throwing the door open to see all of her friends and her brother standing in the living room yelling '_SURPRISE!'_. "I hate all of you! You guys are idiots!" She yelled, but there was a large smile plastered on her face that said otherwise.

Sherlock, after getting over the initial shock, asked, "Why wasn't I involved in this?"

Greg threw an arm over him, handing him a beer in the process. "Because, mate, you can't keep a secret to save your life."

"I can, too!"

"No, you can't" John supported Lestrade. "You can never keep anything to yourself. It's ridiculous, and kind of a pain!" He gave Addie a hug and kissed the top of her head, wishing her a happy birthday.

One by one, they congratulated and showered her with gifts and beer, celebrating into the night until it was just her and Bart lounging on the couch, the latter licking almond frosting off of her fingers after she had finished her third slice of chocolate swirl cake. Apparently the hound had understood enough of the celebration to have brought her every single one of his toys and dumping them at her feet before running off and getting another. Now, thoroughly exhausted, he finished the last of the frosting and lay his head on her lap, eyes blinking sleepily before his breathing evened out. The affair had been a good one. Her brothers had flown over to see her and give her gifts, her friends had given her enough alcohol to drown a small country and there had not been a single red heart visible during the whole thing. Bartholomew twitched in his sleep, his legs stretching and contracting like he was running. The sound of the door opening and closing distracted her momentarily from her observation.

"Hey, Sherlock," She greeted quietly, stroking the dog's head gently while he bayed in his sleep.

The man tilted his head, grinning at the animal with fond sentiment. "Post man dream?"

"Post man dream," she agreed, knowing that the same called was used by the mutt every time the post man delivered anything to their flat. "What's up, buttercup?"

"Firstly, no. Secondly, I came to bring you this." He extended his hand, small box wrapped in the same dark red paper as always before plopping down beside her on the sofa.

"I thought you didn't know about my birthday?"

"I didn't know about the party. I knew about your birthday. I nicked your license a month ago," he explained, handing over a card wedged between his index and middle fingers.

"You prat! I've looking for that! You told me you hadn't seen it!" Her complaints were lost on him as his attention was now focused on the bloodhound, who was on his back, all four legs in the air, paddling evenly along a ghostly body of water.

"I must have misheard you."

"How about you mishear my foot up your—"

"Must you be so terribly crude?"

"Must you be such an insufferable idiot?"

Sherlock considered this before he shrugged. He carded his fingers through his hair, still watching Bart paddle, and now, growl at thin air. "You know, when someone gives you a gift, you open it."

"You refused to open _my_ birthday present to you in front of me!"

"I already knew what it was. I would open it when I need them. For now, that is John and Mary's wedding. I don't want to lose the cufflinks before they're of any use." He explained with a smile. "Now, open."

"No. I have no use for it right now. I will open it when I need it," she said as she put the box aside.

"You know what it is?"

"No. And neither did you until you peeked at them in your room later that night!" She exclaimed with a frown.

"I did not-"She gave him a look. "Ok, maybe I did. Thank you for the cuff links, they are very nice. Now open your damn gift." With a smug smile, she ripped off the red dressing paper and opened the top flap of the box. She took out a scarf and hat, the same material and dusky shade of blue as Sherlock's favorite relic. "Now you can stop stealing mine whenever we go out."

Adelaide snorted in a very unladylike manner. "You steal my dog, doesn't mean I'm getting you a puppy."

"That's because you're so secretly happy that someone else in the world loves that silly and, frankly a little dim-witted, little ray of sunshine that you don't mind sharing custody."

"He is _not_ dim-witted!"

"He ate half a bowl of wax fruit before he realized it didn't taste quite right." The example made Addie cringe. At least he didn't know about Bart repeatedly slamming into a glass door, thinking the glass would disappear just because he willed it so. "Don't get me wrong, I love him just the same,"

Addie scrunched her nose. "I think that's the sweetest thing you've said in your life, and it was directed to my dog. I don't know if I should celebrate or weep for humanity." She received a nudge in the ribs as response.

"I'm serious!"

"So am I. You're one more bad case away from becoming a villain."

"Yeah, well, if I decide to use my powers of deduction for evil, I'll spare you and the dog."

"Thanks, mate. Appreciate it." She shifted in her seat, turning to lean against Sherlock, her head against his chest and grabbing a fistful of his sleep shirt. She inhaled deeply; he smelled of soap, books and cleaning chemicals.

"You'd tell me if I was becoming a villain, wouldn't you?"

"Of course. I'd kick your ass, as well." She closed her eyes as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"And you'd keep Mycroft off me?"

"Tooth and nail, mate. Tooth and nail," she replied sleepily.

"And you'd let me protect you, right? Do what I have to do to take care of you?"

She sighed. "Yes, Sherlock, whatever you want."

"And you'd let me pick the name of our society?" He asked, getting to his real concern.

She cracked one eye open and smirked. "Absolutely not."

"Dammit. How about—"

"Shut up, Lock. Bottom line: you're going to do stuff, I'm going to be there, Mycroft can piss off, you won't pick the name and Bart will destroy a flower bed or something. Now, good night!" She finished, decidedly, leaning up blindly to kiss his cheek and instead getting half of his mouth in a chaste kiss. She returned to her position and drifted in even breaths to dreamland.

Sherlock sat in shock for a minute or two before he found his voice once more. "Addie! _Addie!_" he crowed in a broken voice similar to that of a pubescent boy, not his normal baritone. "Of _course_ you're bloody asleep. Don't worry, I'm not going to over think this. No, not at all. I'm just going to lean back and fall asleep, too, because apparently that's what happens after people kiss in this day and age," he mumbled darkly as he rested his head back against the cushions. After a few minutes of dark oaths, he was out like a light.

* * *

"Addie, I brought your spare ke—" John stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the living room of 219. Mary, who was traveling behind him, bumped into his back before following the stumped doctor's line of vision to the couch. Like a page out of a novel, Sherlock and Addie lay on the couch, the former with both arms gripping his friend in his sleep as the latter held onto fists of his shirt. Bart was on the floor in front of them, wagging his tail at John and Mary as he took out his phone and snapped a picture. "Oh, dear, sweet blackmail. Shall we, darling?

"We shall," Mary replied.

"Bart, speak!" The dog barked in his deep yowling voice, causing the two sleeping figures to inhale sharply. They looked at each other, bleary-eyed and confused, before returning to their slumber with mutters of "Whatever" and "I don't give a shit." Disappointed, the couple left the flat, grumbling under their breaths. John complained that there was nothing sacred left in the world. As the door closed, Addie shot off of Sherlock, shuddering from her head to her toes, locking herself in her bedroom while Sherlock shook himself out, pointedly looking at the floor before plopping back on the couch.

"Not a word!" Sherlock bellowed.

"Ditto!" Addie called back.


	9. Vows

[Author's Note: Sort of long and heavy chapter involving the wedding. I'm a little nervous because I hate messing with the episodes, buuuut it ties in with what I had planned to write for the next chapter (which coincidentally coincides with the finale!) So, read and review, and excuse typos. Tomorrow may bring one or two more chapters. I own nothing but OC and a fangirl squeal for the Finale! MOOOOOFFAAAAAT!]

"No! You can't do this to me, Mary! Please don't make me do this!" Adelaide pleaded, actually on her knees, in front of Mary Morstan, who in turn, was staring at her like a mother would their tantruming child.

"Oh, go on, Addie. It's just for a few hours, and all you have to do is stand there and look pretty!" Mary reasoned with a gentle tone. This, however, did little to quell the other woman's whimpering sighs. "You'll look lovely in the dress, and it would really mean the world to John and I if you do this. Don't you want to make me happy on my wedding day?"

"But, Mary, I don't want to be a bridesmaid!"

Sherlock's rumbling baritone broke midway through her rant, "If I have to get up in front of a hundred people and make a speech, you're going to be a damn bridesmaid. That is final!" He stood next to Mary, Hands folded behind his back and a severe expression on his face. Mary, in turn, smiled at her new ally and clapped in delight.

"Oh, goody! It's settled, then!"

"It most certainly is not! Mary, please—"

"There's no use in complaining, Addie. I already sent your measurements to the seamstress," Sherlock interrupted once more. At this point in the conversation Addie looked just about ready to attack her next-door neighbor, but managed to swallow the half a dozen cusses she had lined up for the genius and dragged herself up to her feet.

"All right, I'll do it. Not because the illustrious jackass already sent for a dress, but because I need to rack up points in my favor for when I need help burying his body in the woods." Mary squealed and hugged Addie in a tight embrace, telling her a million times how much she appreciated it before turning back to the diorama of the wedding hall. Addie grabbed Sherlock by the collar, bringing his face down to meet hers. Her eyes were boring holes into his skull and she took the short moment of startled shock to whisper, "I will _end_ you." She released him with a push and left him to gape at her while she joined the bride-to-be in the planning area, after stepping over a dozen serviettes folded like the Sydney Opera House. John and Sherlock were going out on a case, as per Mary's orders, to make them both realize that nothing was going to change in their friendship.

"You shouldn't threaten him when he's nervous," Mary said in a sing song tone.

"He shouldn't test me."

To say that the wedding came far too soon would be an understatement. John walked into the church, followed by Sherlock and the chief bridesmaid, Janine, then Addie, then a very sweet girl by the name of Olga who was a long-time friend of Mary's. The music swelled dramatically and the Wedding March echoed through the hallowed halls of the beautifully decorated church. Sherlock stood stock still next to John, trying to entertain Archie, the ring bearer with promises of gruesome pictures if he managed to be a good boy. Addie snorted, rolling her eyes at the consulting detective. Someone should have made a similar deal with him. Although, she was fairly certain John _had_. She tugged at the lilac dress, fidgeting with its oversized bow and the flowers in her hand before giving a clearly nervous John a reassuring smile. And at that moment, the bride walked in.

Mary, in her simple, yet enchanting, gown walked, on her own, down the aisle, grin from ear to ear. She made it up the steps in front of the altar and turned to her soon-to-be husband with a teary smile. The ceremony flew by, the happy couple focused on little other than reciting their vows and staring at each other with big goofy smiles and the occasional wink. Rings were given, 'I do's' were said, kisses ran aplenty, and there was not a dry eye in the room at the time they were announced Dr. and Mrs. Watson. The wedding party exited the church and was assaulted with cameras flashing every which way. The bride and groom stood dutifully stood for picture after picture, Sherlock posed stiffly next to Janine, who now was using him to find her a good date for the night, and Addie took pictures with the ring bearer and smushing in with the newlyweds.

"See, that wasn't so bad!" John told a grinning Addie as he nudged her in the ribs and Mary clung to her neck.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Mary chanted into her ear as she gave her a spine-shattering hug. "You are the best and now you have my full support if you ever need to bury anyone."

"I had fun. It's just... _people_. I don't want to share you," she cried dramatically while she hugged them both, the three walking into the reception hall, closely followed by the best man and other bridesmaids. John had just greeted his ex-commander and was all smiles, his presence making up for the fact that his sister, Harry, had not shown to the event. The three were trying to eat their weight in canapés, starving after spending so many hours getting ready and standing around waiting for things to happen. They were more than ready for the party to begin.

"You sound like Sherlock," John remarked.

"I will have your tongue for that, John."

"Stop teasing her. She's behaving. It's more than I can say for your best man. He's helping Janine make bad decisions," the bride admonished.

"Yes, but they'll be very well-informed bad decisions." John's grin was carefree and made him look so much younger that the grey areas around his temples seemed out of place. Yes, Mary was good for John. Addie had seen her fair share of women parade out of 221B before the Fall. He had seen him parade a fair share of women after the Fall. Mary was, in short, the best thing that could have happened to him.

"I'll make sure he doesn't send her off with a psychopath," Addie assured.

"It's OK, I doubt he'll suggest himself."

"_I_ am a high functioning sociopath, John. Stop stating otherwise."

"Be nice. It's his wedding day," Addie started in a warning tone.

"I'll be good. Promsie." He offered his arm with a smile, "Shall I escort you to your seat? Dinner is to be served." She accepted the offer, leaning into his side heavily, not caring whether her perfectly made curls got ruined in the process. She was just exhausted from standing in her horrendously high heels and Sherlock knew it.

"Thank you," she had to restrain herself from hugging the fool.

"You're welcome. I could see you were in distress. You hide it well."

"These shoes will kill me, I tell you." Addie sighed, smiling at the guests as they walked past/ "Are you ready for your speech?"

He leveled a glare at her. "Are you ready for a lobotomy?"

"It'll be fine," her giggle accented her words, but did nothing to reassure her companion. "Just be yourself. Just not the sarcastic, dry, moody, show-off, outlandish—you know what? Be John." She joked. Sherlock made an impatient noise at the back of his throat and turned her to look at him, placing both hands at her shoulders in a clear mental battle of whether or not he wanted to shake her.

"I am flipping out. Can you please not be sarcastic and _help_ me?" He hissed through clenched teeth. Those sad, blue eyes stared preoccupied at the bridesmaid.

Adelaide sighed, organizing her thoughts before placing her hands at either side of his head, brushing away errant strands of hair from his eyes. "John's your best friend. You love him more than you care to admit, you have to. You faked your death so that he would be safe. There is nothing you could say or do that would make him think that you are nothing less than the best friend he has ever had the pleasure of having. He knows you love him, and he knows you're rubbish at expressing any sort of emotion at a human level, and he _still_ chose _you_ over every person he knows in the whole wide world to be his best man. You don't need to worry about a thing. You've got this, Lock. Yeah?" She sought out his eyes, which had fallen to the floor to inspect his shuffling feet in a display of child-like awkwardness. Once they found purchase on each other, Sherlock nodded lightly and Addie let go of his face. The man, who she assumed was going to take her the rest of the way to the table, wrapped his arms around the lilac-clad woman, his chin resting neatly on top of her head.

"You're the most fantastic date ever." He said with a sigh.

"Date?"

Sherlock grinned, stepping aware from her. "Oh, come on. Best man, bridesmaid. It's traditional," he replied, stealing Janine's words and offering his arm once more.

Dinner was delicious and well received. Even Sherlock partook on the event and buried his nerves under layers of food and champagne. Soon, the head of the catering service clinked on his glass and announced that it was time for the best man's speech. Sherlock stood and glanced sideways at Addie, who was on Mary's right. She nodded encouragingly for him to begin.

"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, and… er… others. Er…A-also." He stumbled over his words, and glanced Addie once more. She gestured him to go on before John whispered '_telegrams_'. "Right, um. First things first. Telegrams. Well, they're not actually telegrams. We just call them telegrams. I don't know why. Wedding tradition. Because we don't have enough of _that_ going around, apparently." He picked up the stack of cards and began to read off of them. "_To Mr. and Mrs. Watson. So sorry I'm unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford. To John and Mary. All good wishes for your special day. With love and many big," _he stopped and seemed to struggle with the rest,_ "big squishy cuddles, from Stella and Ted."_ He switched to a new message and braced himself. "_Mary. Lots of love," _he stopped again, and Addie snickered, gaining her a look from Mary, "_poppet. Oodles of love and heaps of good wishes from Cam. Wish your family could have seen this."_ He was now cherry-picking the cards and reading bits off them "_Special day, very special day, love, love, love, love, lo—_bit of a theme, you get the gist. People are basically fond."

The best man looked at the groom and gestured. "John Watson. My friend John Watson. John." He struggled to find another word, but finally caught his thread of thought. "When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused. I confess, at first, I didn't realize what he was asking me. When I finally understood I expressed to him that I was both flattered and surprised. I explained to him that I never expected this request and was a little daunted in the face of it. I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was, for me, as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally I thanked him for the trust he placed in me and indicated that I was, in some ways, very close to being moved by it." He took a breath and a slight grin appeared on his face. "It later transpired that I had said none of this _out loud_." The room laughed at the confession, and he reached into the pocket of his waist coat to retrieve his notes.

"Done that. Done that. Done that bit. Done that bit. Done that bit. Hm," he scanned the page before continuing. "I'm afraid John, I can't congratulate you. All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to pure, cold reason I old above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. Today we honor the death watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time, one feels certain, our entire species."

"Sherlock," Addie warned in a low breath, causing more than one set of eyes to fall on her, but grateful for the interjection. "But anyway, let's talk about John. If I burden myself with a little help-mate during my adventures, it is not out of sentiment or caprice. It is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me."

"Berk."

"Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes, in truth, from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides. It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favor exceptionally plain bridesmaids for their big day. There is a certain analogy there, I feel. And contrast is, after all, God's own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation."

"Mary, do I have your permission to hurt him?" Addie asked in a hushed whisper.

"Right after the toast, dear."

"Or it would be," Sherlock continued, "if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot." He stopped, taking a breath, "The point I'm trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all-around obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful, and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So, if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend. Certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing."

"John, I am a ridiculous man redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But, as I'm apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion." He stopped to smile a large grin at Mary. "Actually, now I can. Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss, so sorry again about that last one. So know this: today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved – in short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will never let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that."

The sound of sniffling and napkins being used to dry tears was the only sound in the hall for a few moments. Sherlock, after thinking it was an appropriate time to continue his speech, and John having already hugged him, tried to convince the guests to cheer up so he could tell funny stories about John. He spoke of many of their cases, taking special interest in the case of the Bloody Guardsman. Although it was a dark and terrible case, it did the job of highlighting the most important part of the study, that John was a life saver and, by far, the best part of Sherlock Holmes' arsenal. The next anecdote about the boys' stag night had everyone in stitches. They had run around town, Sherlock trying to get both him and John the perfect amount of drunk and they had struck out far before closing time. They had also attempted to solve the case of the Mayfly man while inordinately pissed, and spent the night in lock-up. Lestrade could be seen grinning from ear to ear, remembering opening the gate for the dynamic duo and making their hangover headaches seem a million times worse by screaming every little bit of information. Addie giggled, remembering jumping over the boys when they were lying down on the stairs early that night. It had been a terrible idea to put Sherlock in charge of the stag. The man's concept of a good time was far more different than John's, and seeing as they got arrested for vomiting a dead man's flat, it would seem irrefutable proof that alcohol and Sherlock do not mix.

Sherlock raised his glass of champagne to raise a toast to the happy couple, but a million things happened at once. People breathed, pictures were taken, everyone stood and Sherlock dropped his glass. John Mary and Addie shared a look amongst them. Something was wrong. Well, usually something is, but when Sherlock asked everyone to sit back down and vaulted the table, it was enough to make his friends shudder in fear.

"Uh-oh," Addie groaned, pulling her phone from a crease in her dress where she had stashed it. She had a message from a contact she had labeled 'The dog's kidnapper'. It read a simple _SOS_. She showed Mary the text and watched as the man paced the room, clearly eliminating people from his thought process and asking everyone to come together in a game of 'Murder'.

"Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues," he pointed at the top table towards John, "Now John I'd poison. Sloppy eater – dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds – that way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue. Lestrade's so easy to kill, it's a miracle no-one's succumbed to the temptation. I've got a pair of keys to my brother's house – I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him, if the whim arose. Adelaide sleeps like the dead, so a stabbing wouldn't go amiss." Addie rolled her eyes, and stepped down from the top table, to skirt around the guests seats. Stealing glances at open purses and bags. The consulting detective rambled on, his hands eliminating targets by the tens, and considering the little few people left. Finally, his eyes rested on Sholto. He gestured Addie with his head and she stood by the military man, telling him in short whispers to go out and not stop for anyone. The man giving the speech finally raised his glass and told John what was happening.

The doctor followed him at once, Mary sitting tight for a few seconds before grabbing Addie and running after her husband to Major Sholto's room. The commander had locked himself in his rooms waiting for his attacker while Sherlock tried to convince him to open the door. The reply was that he would open the door when he solved the case. Sherlock fumed. If he had not solved the case before, why would he be able to solve it now.

"Because it _matters_ now," Mary argued hotly.

"What are you talking about? What's she talking about? Get your wife under control," he told John with a frown.

"She's right."

"Oh, _you've _changed!"

"No, she is. Shut up. You are not a puzzle-solver – you never have been. You're a drama queen. Now, there is a man in there about to die. "_The game is on._" Solve it!"

Sherlock looked at Addie, who had been silent the whole exchange and looking for a little support. She shrugged, really not knowing what to tell him. "There's no other choice, Sherlock."

He paced in small circles, his eyes moving back and forth with impressive speed. Head titled slightly left at the same time. He stopped, kissed Mary's forehead and informed her that her husband was also, in fact, a drama queen. She readily accepted the fact. He turned to the door and yelled. "Major Sholto, no one's coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago."

"What did you say?"

"Don't take off your belt." Sherlock called through the wood.

"My belt?"

"His belt, yes. Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt. Tight belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabric and you wouldn't even feel it."

John interrupted, "The-the belt would bind the flesh together when it was tied tight ..."

"Exactly."

" ... and when you took it off ..."

"Delayed action stabbing. All the time in the world to create an alibi. Major Sholto?"

"So, I was to be killed by my uniform. How appropriate" Sholto's voice held a terrible severity and finality that no one wanted to embrace. There were many attempts at asking the Major to open the door, and one thinly veiled threat to kick open the door. "Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think."

Sherlock rested his forehead against the door "Yes, I think we are."

"There's a proper time to die, isn't there?"

"Of course there is."

"And one should embrace it when it comes – like a soldier."

"Of course one should, but not at John's wedding. We wouldn't do that, would we – you and me? We would never do that to John Watson." The door mercifully opened, and John rushed to give the Major some medical attention before the ambulance picked him up.

The killer, funnily enough, had turned out to be the photographer, the one man no one ever saw in pictures, the one man everyone trusted as a principle. The one man that had given Addie his phone number and she ripped it to tiny little shreds as she watched Sherlock playing the bride and groom's first dance as husband and wife. After he was done, and gave a, frankly, confusing speech, he stepped from the podium, the music bumped and he met the newlyweds in the center of the room. Addie joined a scared-looking John and Mary, grinning happily at the two as they digested the news of the newest Watson family member.

"Addie, I'm… I'm…"

"Pregnant, Mary. The word you're looking for is pregnant."

Mary stared at her closely for a few minutes before letting out a gasp. "You knew!"

"You've been throwing up all week, Mary! Bart won't let anyone touch you. You're pregnant!"

"Dance. Go dance, people will get suspicious about what we're talking about," Sherlock said hurriedly, ushering the two away from his form and sighing. "Well, wasn't that a wonderful day?"

Addie laughed. "Most fun I've ever had at a wedding," She said, taking his wrist and leading him to a less crowded part of the dance floor. "How did you know it was the photographer?"

Sherlock grinned, considering the question for a moment. "Why? Do you still want to call him? I'm sure Lestrade can give you visiting rights." She smacked his arm, giving him a disproving look.

"No. I was curious. Isn't that what dates do? Ask about what the other finds interesting?" She asked as Sherlock dutifully spun her and captured her in his grasp once more.

"I doubt the tradition of best men and bridesmaids go any further than sharing the niceties of each other's name before they jump into bed, broom closet or lavatory together," the man cleared, sarcastic smile perched on his lips.

Adelaide pondered. "Well, we could do that, too," she growled into his ear, earning her a shocked, gaping Sherlock who had stopped all movement and was now awkwardly standing on the dance floor while she swayed. "It is far too easy to surprise you, Lock," her laughter tickled his ear and a warm shiver ran down his spine.

"I hate you so much right now."

"What's the minimum amount of steps in which I can get out of this dress?" She challenged.

As if on automatic response, he grumbled. "Three, if you keep the shoes on." His cheeks lit up in a cherry red glow. She patted his cheek and led him away from the tumult of people dancing. Addie took a seat nearby, trying to give her feet a rest after having been in terribly uncomfortable shoes all day. Sherlock dragged a chair next to her and draping an arm around her shoulders. "You alright?"

"Tired, sleepy, can't be bothered with the interaction, hating the bloody shoes Mary picked. You?"

"John's married." He stared blankly at the patch of floor in front of him.

"It'll be fine. He loves you."

"I'm OK with it. Surely I can find _someone_ to occupy my time."

"When you talk about my dog like that, it makes me nervous for him," she scrunched up her nose in distaste. They looked at each other for a tick before bursting out in laughter, not understanding how two perfectly smart people could be so ridiculous. "Take me home." Sherlock nodded, pressed his lips against her temple before leading her out of the wedding hall, helping her into her coat and exiting the front door.


	10. Vices

[Author's Note: So, I was going to post earlier, but real life got in the way. This means that maybe only one chapter tonight and the other tomorrow. Spoilers for the third episode and a few tie-ins before I start to deviate from the story-line into more fictitious plots. Still, read and review, and tell me all about it. Next chapter will be a companion (you'll know it by the 'AND -' title) and finishes this train of thought into the spoilers for the fourth season. Bear with me, please. I own nothing but the OC's and my promise that Bart will figure prominently in the next chapter.]

"He's a coward, I tell you. Honestly, if he was just going to flake out after it happened he never should have kissed me in the first place!" Addie ranted, all the while flipping pancakes on the stove. "I mean, who the hell does that?" She growled deep in her throat. "I tell you who, Sherlock fucking Holmes!"

Bart, who had been dutifully listening to his best friend, tilted his head at the mention of Sherlock. Even he was aware that he had not been around for more than a month. Addie, just as stubborn as her good-for-nothing neighbor did not just go and confront him. Of course, it didn't mean that she was going to stop complaining about it, either. After all, it had been nearly perfect.

* * *

Sherlock and Addie had made it back to 219 after John and Mary's wedding, Bart barking up a storm as they crumpled into the sofa, not bearing another step forward. He had stretched himself out the length of the furniture, forcing Addie to stretch herself along with him and take refuge in the small space between him and the back of the sofa. It had been a natural position, and Sherlock had even wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing her to his chest while she mumbled something about her legs not being able to work until next Christmas. He grinned, stroking her hair free of the generously hair-sprayed curls and into its more natural waves, humming some nameless tune being concocted in his mind under his breath. Addie stared up, her green eyes barely peeking out of the mess that was now her hair, watching the detective while he so calmly lounged around the flat with her. She had never seen him so calm without having the luxury of a gun in his hand, murdering the wallpaper behind his own furniture. Yet, when he was in her flat, just talking to Addie about something unimportant or playing the cello or simply spoiling Bartholomew, he let go of the constant murmurs in his head that told him to be of use. The fact made her proud, and she smiled at him through the veil of brown hair, getting another in return. Slowly, far too slowly, in her opinion, she watched him push her hair away from her face and bend his neck. His face was merely centimeters from her own and closing when his phone trilled the most obnoxious song, signaling that Mycroft needed something.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" He growled, his hand still cupping Addie's pink cheeks. He waited for a reply, rolling his eyes at whatever trivial fact his brother was bothering him with at the time. A few impatient murmurs later, he interrupted his elder sibling. "Mycroft not that this isn't a _scintillating_ tale," he drawled sarcastically , drawing nearer once more, lips brushing hers with every word he spoke, "but I have to kiss Adelaide now." He flung the phone away without noticing where it fell and crashed into her in a desperate lip-lock. That was a month ago. Addie had not seen him since. That was all going to change. RIGHT. NOW.

"Sherlock Holmes, I need a word with you!" She bellowed, flinging the door open and barging into the dark flat, only to stop short of the living room. On the sofa, beneath the smiley face painted in yellow, was Sherlock. It would be a fair moment to point out that he was not alone. Straddled a top of him in a fierce battle of control while they kissed was a woman. A very familiar woman. The couple was kind enough to stop their display to look at Addie, mouth agape and one leg in the air as if her brain had not told her to take that last step.

"Oh, hello, Addie! Sorry to find us in such a position. I was just going to work and I got distracted," Janine said with an awkward smile, getting off of Sherlock and collecting her things. "I'll see you later, Sherl."

"Adelaide, how very nice to see you," Sherlock casually remarked, wiping off the remnants of lipstick off of his face. His blue eyes followed his friend around the room where she stood next to John's old cricket bat. "Addie, please, I can explain."

"Oh, no need to explain, Sherlock. It's _fine_."

He sighed, standing up and approaching her, but keeping a safe distance from her threatening stance. "Adelaide, I'm working a case, Janine is a key to unlocking it. I swear, it's—"

"I really don't want to bloody hear it, Sherlock! A _month_! A bloody month, are you serious?!" She yelled, no furious, her fingers dancing on the handle of the bat.

Sherlock's eyes turned sad and wide, and he slumped his shoulders in a manner he knew would convince the woman of his words. "_Addie_, I—"

"Don't _Addie_ me, Sherlock Holmes! You do not get to use those sad blue eyes against me. You do not get to be forgiven for this! Would it kill you to say _anything_? _Anything_ at all. I've been worried you had receded into a turtle shell inside your room, and I come here to find out she's been able to coax it out just fine."

"It's not what you think!" He pleaded, putting a hand on her shoulder. The look he got in return was murderous, and he took a step back, his hands up in front of him in a protective stance. "I know that face. That's the _I'm going to bloody hurt you_ face."

Her jaw tensed and she gripped the cricket bat in her hand with resolve. "Good deduction, Mr. Holmes."

When Sherlock came to, there was a mess of splinters on the floor around him, two pieces of cricket bat strewn beside his body and a fiery ache on his cheek bone. When he touched his fingers to the site, they came away red with blood. Surely Addie would have a little more sense about her. He hadn't exactly given her a reason to show any kind of leniency towards him, but he was certain that she had overreacted. Scrambling up from the floor with a little difficulty, he ran a hand down his clothes to straighten them, only to hear the crinkling of paper. There was a note attached to his shirt. _Bart misses you._ He smiled, which in itself hurt more than the blow to the head had. Maybe not all was lost.

* * *

"Everyone is overreacting! I'm on a case, John!" Sherlock bellowed from the back of the taxi on their way to St. Bart's Hospital.

"I don't bloody care what you have to say. We're going to Molly and you're going to pee in a bloody cup!"

"Why did you have to call Adelaide?" He growled back in the same acerbic tone, staring at the girl who was at John's other side, pointedly looking out of the window.

"I'm here to make sure that John doesn't kill you. I don't fancy having my best friend's baby having to visit his father at prison for such a person as you, Lock."

The consulting detective grinned. "You called me _Lock_. You're not all that mad at me, are you?"

"Nope, I'm being sarcastic. I only tolerate you because my dog loves you, and even then, you're only supposed to be there when I'm at work."

"Did you read my letters?"

"Nope," she replied, popping the 'p' sound and still looking out the window.

"Addie—"

"Sherlock Holmes, I will _end_ you if you keep talking!" She yelled, startling everyone, including the taxi driver. John chuckled sarcastically and dragged Sherlock out of the back as soon as they arrived at the Hospital.

"_Fuck!_" Addie was looking at the small granules she had crystallized out of a blood sample from Sherlock. She rested her head against the lab table and groaned. Molly had just slapped Sherlock, putting him in his place for taking drugs when he had such an incredible gift. Addie would have done it herself had she any self-control and guarantee that she would not kill the consulting detective.

"I think you all want to listen to Adelaide for a minute," the tall man whispered, nursing the side of his face with a delicate touch.

"Trace amounts taken somewhere between one and two days ago. There's not even enough to properly recover a decent sample." John stared at her expectantly, as if waiting for the punch line. "He's not lying. He took enough to make the others trust him."

"I don't bloody care. How do we even know he'll stop there? What if that was the first taste?" John's tone was deadly, and Addie couldn't do anything but shrug. He knew that they had a falling out, she never told him why, just that she planned never to be in an empty room with him ever again. "We're going home. Did you call him?"

Letting her hair fall from the clamp where she had secured it, Addie nodded a little reluctantly. "Of course I did."

"Good. Let's go!"

In Baker Street, a smug Mycroft waited for them on the stairs. While everyone was expecting an overbearing sibling worried for the welfare of his brother, they instead received a sarcastic man who found it a little humorous that his brother was once again _on the sauce_, as he put it. It annoyed all the occupants all the same, but it was grating on the nerves of a high Sherlock.

"Mycroft, could you please lay off for a minute?" Addie asked through clenched teeth. Her eyes were following Anderson and his friend. She might have been thoroughly pissed at the detective, but she was sure that he was not into hard drugs. Sure, he looked rough, but it was not the sunken, dead look that a drug addict usually sports. That and she did not appreciate the embargo on his apartment. If it were her in that situation… well, she wouldn't be in that situation, but if it were, she wouldn't want them to break into her flat and search it. Plus, Sherlock was usually candid with his past vices and when he was falling off the wagons. It wouldn't make sense for him to start denying it now.

"I didn't know you were still fond of my brother. As I understood it, you were not on speaking terms for months. What gives you the authority to dictate what I should do for _my _brother."

"Because he doesn't lie to me. He'd rather avoid me for a month than lie to me. If he can tell me to my face that he's not hooked on anything, then I believe him."

"Oh, women are so sentimental about men and their lies. Sherlock plays you just as much as he plays everyone else."

"What reason would he have to lie to me? He has no attachment to me, he's not related, I don't work with him, and he doesn't owe me _anything_. It would be a waste of Mind Palace to fib to me and have to remember what he lied to me about!" She turned towards the two searching the flat and stared them down. "Out."

"Your door is closed. Your room is never closed. Would it be that you're hiding something inside?"

"Stay out of his room!" "Stay out of my room," Addie and Sherlock bellowed together. They stared at each other blankly for a moment before Sherlock remembered what was bothering him. The words _Charles Augustus Magnussen_ were uttered, and apparently, it was rather a big deal. While Addie had not the smallest clue what that meant, Mycroft and Sherlock shared a small moment of veiled threats. That is, until the younger Holmes remembered really did not like to be messed with when he was high. It had been in a flash that he had Mycroft against the frame of the door with his arm wrenched against his back, causing the elder to hiss in pain.

"No, no. Stop it. Not the time, you tosspot, you," she groaned, while John eventually ripped them apart. Sherlock nipped away towards the bathroom, deciding it was time to start looking like a presentable human being, and John dismissed Mycroft from the flat. John and Addie stared at each other, each trying to figure out what to do and what was going on. It was impossible that two months away from John would drive Sherlock into drugs. Two months without Addie, as well, would certainly drive him up a wall, John thought.

"What happened to you two? I thought you were fine. You left the wedding together and you looked like you were pleased with yourselves and it seemed—it seemed like maybe someone had managed to put a bell on the cat." John argued, throwing himself in the armchair and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"We were. It was going great, actually. I mean, I thought—, well, it doesn't matter what I thought. It was wrong. I was wrong."

"What happened?" John asked again, pointedly staring at her.

"Well—"

"John. How are you doing? Addie, it's great seeing you again," a half-dressed Janine greeted cheerfully, coming out of Sherlock's bedroom, clearly having slept there.

"J-Janine, hi. Nice to see you, too," John stuttered out in surprise.

"Where's Sherlock?"

"Bathroom," Addie replied with a grin. As soon as the woman retreated into the hall, she turned to John. "Say hello to reason, John."

"He… she… he wouldn't!"

"He did. Very much so." Her feet scuffed the floor as she shuffled them awkwardly, eyes fixed on the coffee table further away.

"Bloody fuck."

* * *

"You've got a girlfriend?" John asked awkwardly, Janine just having exited the flat. Addie was standing at the window, looking at the gloomy day that was bound to come.

"Yes, I do."

"And it's _not_ Adelaide?" John's question made Addie snort from her position, picking up the skull in the corner, but she said nothing more.

"I thought it would be obvious. Seeing as I was kissing Janine and not Addie." The sound of Addie dropping the skull made both men start and sidetrack the conversation. "Npw, Magnussen. He's like a shark, that's the best way to describe him. I've dealt with thieves, murderers and terrorists, but none make my stomach turn like Charles Magnussen."

"I'm sorry. Really, Sherlock, _Janine_?"

"Not that I don't absolutely _adore_ her, but can we stop talking about Janine and more about the idiotic case this dumbass has been on about?" Adelaide's patience was wearing thin and she was a moment away from ducking out to her flat. This was asking far too much from her.

"Right, Magnussen is a newspaper owner, but he is so much more than that. He uses his power and wealth to gain information. He knows the pressure point of every person of influence of the Western world and beyond. He is the Napoleon of blackmail. He created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. It's name is Appledoor." He took a breath. "All of it is kept in hard copy. He's smart, computers can be hacked, and everything is kept in vaults under that house. As long as the information is there, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy." His explanation was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson announcing a person intruding the sanctity of the flat, and Addie automatically moved by Sherlock, keeping herself as close to the wall as possible.

They were patted down by unknown persons in black before a self-important man, dressed in a suit entered the living room as if he owned it. Addie assumed it was this Magnussen fellow everyone was talking about, and the mere sight of him made her skin crawl uncomfortably. Sherlock was trying to negotiate the return of the letters of Lady Elizabeth Smallwood before this odd man said a single word that stopped Sherlock in his tracks. "Redbeard." Addie stared at the consulting detective, urging him onwards with a nod, but seeing that he had lost whatever confidence he had in himself for this meeting. Mangussen, making as little sense as a duck trying to tell them about evolution, paced around the room, peed in the fireplace and took his leave, before refusing the exchange of the letters.

"Did you notice the one remarkable thing he did?" Sherlock asked, still not moving.

"I can anme a few," replied John, looking at the fireplace.

"He showed us the letters, which means they are in London and he's willing to make a deal. HE only makes deals after he has taken all the pressure points of his adversaries. He thinks I'm a drug addict, and that's what he focuses on. I need you to meet me at seven. I'll text you the details."

"Well, I'm going home and never speaking of this again, " Addie remarked with a sarcastic smile, turning to the door at once.

The taller of the two men caught her by the wrist. "I need you there, too."

"Fat chance of that happening," she combatted, ripping her hand out of his grasp.

"Addie, please. I need an extra set of eyes for this, someone who doesn't think like a sociopath."

"Sherlock, I really don't think—"

"_Please_! If you do this for me I'll never ask you for anything again if you don't want to. Help me."

The girl sighed, shaking out her curls lazily, staring at the toes of her shoes. "Text me the details. "

* * *

"We're breaking in to his _office_? No, Sherlock, I did _not _ sign up for this. This is the non-sociopath saying, you've gone too far," Adelaide hissed through her teeth, pulling the man away from the lift, John right behind them.

"But it won't read as the wrong card, haven't you been listening?"

She punched his shoulder as hard as she dared in the crowded lobby, and growled. "Don't treat me like an idiot, that gets you punched in the face. There's a bar code on the card. Who says it's not read simultaneously as a safeguard?"

"It's not."

"How do you know?"

"I just do, Adelaide. Will you listen to me? I'll get in. I went shopping."

"For what? A twelve digit, security scanner decoder? That's the only thing getting you there!"

With an impatient noise, Sherlock wrenched away from Addie, ignoring both of his friends' pleads and swiped the card. The scanner beeped and the display showed an error in the card. Sherlock, stepping to the right, smiled at the monitor where Janine's face had appeared on the small LCD.

"Human error," Addie mumbled, trying to reign in the desire to kick Sherlock in the shin. "Of _ course _it's Janine. Because the Universe hasn't shit-kicked me enough today." John set a sympathetic arm on eher shoulder and smiled down at her.

"Sherlock, you loon. What are you doing?" Her voice whispered through the speakers.

"Come on, let me up," he smiled bashfully at her, Addie was immediately sick.

"I can't you know I can't."

"Don't make me do this out here. In front of all these people," he whined, watching the passerbys with a weary eye. Addie sucked in a breath. If this was goig where she thought this was going…

"Do _what_ in front of everyone?" Sherlock reached into his pocket and drew out a box, he opened the top and revealed a diamond ring inside it and raised it to the camera. Addie doubled over, trying to quell the bile rising in her throat and the need to be violently sick in the lobby. The lift opened, and they all stepped inside. John rubbed Addie's back in circles while she tried to get her breathing under control.

"It took six months to kiss me, and two to _propose_ to her?" She hissed through clenched teeth.

"Well, I needed her. She's Magnaussen's PA."

"You just got engaged to break into an office?" John asked, perplexed at his friend's new level of low.

"Yes."

"She's in love with you."

"Like I said, human error."

"What will you do?"

"Well, not actually marry her, obviously. There's only so much you can do. I'll just tell her our relationship was an elaborate ruse to break into her bosses' office. I imagine she won't want to see me at that point."

"You're an idiot," Addie growled, her eyebrows tightly furrowed and her hand clenching repeatedly, thirsty for blood. The lift opened, but Janine was nowhere in sight. At least not until John found her on the floor, out cold, along with a security guard. Sherlock sniffed, catching the whiff of a perfume he identified as _Claire-de-la-lune_, a favorite scent of lady Smallwood, and rushed upstairs to the private flat. Addie followed him upstairs, staling in the shadows of doorway and peeking in to a kneeling Magnussen being held at gun-point by someone all in black.

"Additionally, if you want to commit murder, you might want to consider changing your perfume, Lady Smallwood," Sherlock drawled, stepping into the room, despite Adelaide's protests.

"Sorry. That is not Lady Smallwood, Mr. Holmes," Magnussen whispered in a hoarse voice. Addie had found the courage to stand next to Sherlock, her mobile in her hand and poised on the _Call_ button for 999. The figure in black turned around, gun and all.

Addie felt she was going to be sick again, and Sherlock had to grab her before her knees buckled and made her tumble to the ground. Finding her feet and voice, she managed to whisper, "Mary!"

"Oh, Addie," She said in a soft voice. "Damn. Is John here?" Sherlock tried to mumble a response. "Is John here with you?"

"He's downstairs with Janine," he managed to choke out, his lip trembling just as much as Addie's whole body was.

"So, what do you do now? Kill us all?" Magnussen asked, and Addie wished she could kick the man. This was not the moment for a mind game, her best friend had a gun trained at them.

"Mary, whatever he's got on you, I can help," Sherlock drawled slowly, like coaxing out a frightened animal.

"Sherlock, you take one more step, I swear I will kill you," she replied certainly.

Addie snorted reflexively. "I'm sorry. It's usually me saying that. Remind me to never say that again." Adelaide said, a little bashfully, holding the back of Sherlock's coat and trying to tug him back to her. "Sherlock, step back. Just, listen to Mary, please. For once, just listen."

He grinned smugly. "No, Mrs. Watson, you won't." As soon as his foot hit the ground, the gunshot sounded and Sherlock tumbled back. Addie shrieked, falling to her knees and looking up at Mary with pleading eyes before the latter knocked Magnussen out with the barrel of the gun and approached Addie.

"Mary! Please, Mary," she chanted blindly, tears inundating her vision, not even sure how to respond to the stressful situation she was in. Mary kneeled down next to her, stroking her hair and taking her mobile, pressing the _Call_ button and telling the authorities of the accident.

"Shh. It's going to be fine. He'll be fine, I swear to you. Trust me."

"You put a bullet in him, Mary!" Addie shrieked the sentence, one she didn't think she would ever have to utter in her life.

"Please don't tell John. Addie, swear it!"

"Do you plan to shoot me if I do?"

"No. Never. Please, I need your word. Addie, I need your word. Sherlock will be ok. Please. Swear to me you won't tell John." Addie nodded, and Mary hugged her tightly, kissing her forehead and taking one last guilty glance at Sherlock before leaving the way she came. Addie sat there crying for a second or two before yelling for John at the top of her lungs. The doctor rushed in with fear in his eyes and called the authorities once more. When the ambulance came, they couldn't pull Adelaide off of Sherlock, seemingly in shock and transported her along with him to the Hospital.


	11. And Virtues

[Author's Note: Last part of Series 3. Again, it's a little tweaked from the original plot-line, but I'm happy with it. Mostly because Addie has rage issues all through the chapter and Sherlock is desperate to fix it. Read and Review (you know I love it when you do). Next chapter will be more lighthearted physical comedy, like the other non-canon chapters. Let me know about typo's. I usually type so fast I miss a few. I own nothing but the OC's and the number for a therapist that might help Addie with her issues.]

It had taken three doctors, two nurses and a not-so-mild sedative to cleave Adelaide from Sherlock's body. Clearly in hysterics, they had handed her off to John, telling him that she would sleep off most of the shock while they worked on pulling out the bullet lodged in the man's chest. She had mot said much when she woke. In fact, she had said nothing, gone to Baker Street and returned a half hour later in fresh clothes and with Bart in tow. She then proceeded to sit at her neighbor's bedside with her loyal hound all night. Mary had come by to check on them and beg a loopy Sherlock not to tell John what had happened. She didn't ask Addie, though. However, the ex-assassin was a little worried about how terribly well she was taking the news. Then again, she did live next to Sherlock and John for two years. It seemed to fit that nothing would surprise her anymore.

"He _cannot_ be in here, ma'am," a tired nurse remarked for the third time in an hour, concerning Sir Bartholomew's presence.

"He's a service dog, it's fine," Addie managed to bite out through clenched teeth.

A disbelieving look crossed the nurse. "What service does he provide?"

"The _service_ of attacking on command, so I suggest you get the hell out of the ,room before I set him on you," she growled, punctuated by the fact that Bart was growling and the hair on his spine was on end in the most menacing of manners.

"I would listen if I were you. She attacked the Urgency staff when she came in last night. I wouldn't put sicking the dog on you past her," Sherlock's raspy voice broke through the staring contest the two women were having, an amused smile tugging at his lips. The nurse rolled her eyes, stepping away from the room like it wasn't worth her time. "Have I told you, you have a _wonderful_ bedside manner, Adelaide?"

"I'm not interested in talking to you, Sherlock."

The sick man frowned, his brows knitting together tightly. "But you're _here_. You were hysterical."

"It's bad Karma to be angry with a dying man. You needed to live. Also, I need to kick your sorry ass before you die." She inspected her nails with rapt attention. "Anyway, Janine is outside, I'll leave Bart with you."

The hound kipped at the end of the bed, the smell of his oatmeal shampoo wafting through the air. At least he was happy to see him. "I am in big trouble with your mother, aren't I?" The dog stared at him, as if he knew exactly what Sherlock was asking and barked.

Addie, John and Lestrade were on their way to see Sherlock. They needed to see what Sherlock knew about the shooter. Addie walked in backwards, pushing the door in with her foot and laughing with Lestrade who was trying to set up his phone for a video. She turned, ready to wake the wounded man, but was met with an empty room. "He's gone. He took Bart, so there's a least someone with common sense with him, but he has a day-old bullet hole in him. He won't make it long." They looked high and low for the man and the dog, but if there was something to be said about Sherlock was that no one found him that he didn't want to.

It was a short telephone call that had taken them to the Empty Houses of Leicester Gardens. The plan made her nervous. They were going to show John the true colors of his wife, and she was not interested in seeing how that played out. A happy Bart pranced towards Mary, and she smiled down at the pup, patting his head before continuing her conversation with the high functioning sociopath on the Bluetooth device. It had been quite a feat to watch Mary shoot a coin in mid-air, even if it did startle Bart momentarily before Addie appeared to wrangle him.

"You should have told him, Mare," she whispered softly.

"He wouldn't have understood."

"It's John we're talking about, not Sherlock. He has the capacity to understand flaws of human nature."

"I swear, you're far too calm about all this," she remarked cautiously, gun pointed to the floor.

"Oh, I look like I'm fine, but inside I'm screaming like a tiny little girl. I do appreciate the fact that you're not pointing the gun at me, though." Mary laughed a little, her eyes misty and looking over Addie's shoulder to a stoic-looking John. "Come on, put it away. We're going to Baker Street. John's fixing to lose his mind and I would appreciate it if he didn't do it here." Addie reached back offering her left hand to John and the other to Mary, dragging them behind her like schoolchildren.

At 221B, Addie helped Sherlock up the stairs, nagging his ear off about how dangerous it was that he was climbing stairs in such a condition. Not wanting to tempt his luck with his newly-reunited neighbor, he kept his mouth shut, save for the occasional groan of pain. And, as the tiny brunette had predicted, John had gone crazy. He yelled and kicked furniture and caused Mrs. Hudson to run off to her own flat. John had accepted her hand on his shoulder, seeing as she was currently the only sane person in the room, he reasoned.

"John, it's time to listen to her. Just like all the others. You owe it to your child to listen what she has to say."

"Addie, she lied to me. To us, all of us, from day one." He fumed, making Addie shrink back, startled.

"And every morning when you wake up, she asks if you slept well, and you say you did even when you spent the night awake with nightmares. No one is truthful, but it's killing her right now. Look at her."

John straightened and sniffed, pulling a chair out and gesturing Mary to it. "Sit."

"Why?"

"Because _that's_ where they sit! When they tell us their stories, and _that's_ where we sit and listen and decide if we want you!" John threw himself violently into his chair, and Addie helped Sherlock to his, taking a seat at his feet with Bart beside her. Mary stuck her hand into her pocket and pulled a memory stick from it.

"That contains everything of who I used to be."

"A G R A?"

"My initials," she said more to John than Sherlock who had asked the question. "If you love me, don't read it in front of me."

"Why?"

"Because you won't love me when you finish, and I don't want to watch that happen." John pocketed the drive with a huff before Sherlock broke the silence.

"You want any files Magnussen might have on you extracted, correct?"

"Why would you do that?" Mary asked with a sniffle.

"You saved my life."

"How did she do that?" John asked.

"She called the ambulance."

"_I_ called the ambulance. Addie was in shock."

"She did. You came later. She used my cell." Addie offered quietly. Bart was whining, growing louder with every passing moment. He clambered over Addie to nudge his head against Sherlock's knee. There was a racket on the stairs.

"She did. It takes an ambulance eight minutes to get around in London. She made sure I survived, John. She could have killed me and Magnussen both, but she didn't. John, Magnussen is all that matters now. You can trust Mary, she saved my life," he managed to say as the ambulance paramedics that had just burst into the flat strapped Sherlock to the backboard and rushed him out.

The nurses didn't dare tell Adelaide that Bart was not allowed inside. Of course, it also meant that she was camping out in the hospital with the consulting detective.

"You know, you don't have to sit there all day. I'm not going anywhere, Adelaide."

"Shut up," she replied automatically, flipping through a magazine.

"I left _twice_, Addie. Twice!"

"In the last two weeks alone. I'll leave when I see that you're fit enough to get a kick below the belt, at which point, I will indulge and be n my merry way. Now, _shut it_, Lock."

"You're not really mad at me. You're still calling me _Lock_."

"Force of habit."

"Are you honestly still angry at me for Janine?"

Adelaide put the magazine down and glared at the bed-ridden man. "You kissed me, started seeing some random flake, ignored me for months, proposed to her in my presence after a certainly sickening display of affection that same morning and you ask if I'm angry at you for that? Deduce it, moron!"

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "Is this about the ring? It's in my coat. Fetch it, I will propose, you'll be even with Janine!" He certainly wasn't expecting the magazine to fly through the air at his face, if the sputtering of surprise as it made contact was any indication.

"_Even_? That's what you think this is about? Being even with her? Sherlock, you're a _moron_ and clearly I should just have Mary shoot you again. Furthermore, if I ever see that ring _again_, I will castrate you!" She hissed, leaning towards the bed.

"I tried to explain to you that day, but you hit me with a cricket bat!"

"Did it ever occur to you to talk to me _before_ you embarked on this mission?!" Sherlock gaped, much like a fish out of water before she stormed from the room, leaving a very confused Sherlock and Bart to stare at each other.

"On a scale of one to ten, how likely is it that she's just overreacting for the moment and will forgive me once this mess is over?" Bart remained silent. "I thought as much."

The Holmes household was festively decorated, and all was well. Well, at least from the heads of the family's perspective. Mycroft and Sherlock were outside smoking, Mrs. Holmes was fussing over dinner and Mr. Holmes was sitting with Addie, a large album open over their laps. "They were impossible children, all of them. Three little bundles of energy that were all smarter than me. You know about our eldest child, don't you?"

"Sherlock's mentioned him once, but it's obvious he'd rather believe it's just him and Myc."

The older man's smile grew a little tenderer. "Sherlock's a good boy, Addie; an intermediate between Myc's cold, analytical logic and Victor's raw, passionate persona. The three of them were chaos. They get it from their mother."

"I actually used one of Mrs. Holmes' books in university. She's... genius. However, I've learned from Sherlock that genius is a _huge_ liability," Addie said with a smile a she turned the page, a knob-kneed little Sherlock with an Irish setter occupied the page. "Who's this?"

"Redbeard, the boys' dog."

"I thought Mrs. Holmes didn't allow pets," she commented, recalling the name from their conversation with Magnussen.

"She put a ban after he was put down. It nearly destroyed Sherlock. He cried for weeks, didn't eat. It was terrible, and my wife couldn't bear to watch him suffer anymore." The old album slipped out of the old man's hands, and Addie caught him before his body followed the same trajectory.

"I'm going to burn in _Hell_ for this, Sherlock!" Addie called from the room, putting the man in a comfortable position and following her boys out the door.

"You _knew_ about this?"

"I mixed the doses, John. I gave Mary a minimal dose. She'll be fine, so will the baby." She whistled into the house and her bloodhound followed her into the clearing, tail high in the air.

The Magnussen estate was a hulking property, and from the moment they entered, it made them all feel uncomfortable. The man was sipping whisky in a white sofa Sherlock made himself comfortable on and watched John being dragged from the Guy Fawkes' day fire on an intelligent screen. The memory was haunting to John and he felt a rapt hatred brew in his stomach for the bespectacled man. Bart shared his aversion keenly, and growled with every movement the millionaire made, which only seemed to amuse the man further.

"I'll exchange the password for all documents concerning Mary Watson," Sherlock interrupted the silent exchange between man and animal to remark about the laptop, Mycroft's, which was in Magnussen's hands.

"It is locatable through GPS. Surely Mycroft has noticed the theft and is on his way here, he will find me with sensitive information, you will be exonerated and I arrested."

"You knowing this doesn't stop it from happening."

"Then why am I smiling?" John indulged the lunatic with the question. It had been only a second after that he agreed to show the trio his vaults. With a smile, he led them to a set of wooden double doors that protected a single, metallic chair. The man sat, and much like Sherlock did, sifted through his Mind Palace at his sensitive files. Every piece of dirt he had on Mary Watson was in his mind. There was no proof.

"Sherlock, what do we do?" Addie asked him, her eyes a big as a doe's in fear. Magnussen was with John on the deck, the latter still trying to grasp the concept of the man's empire.

"I don't know, Adelaide," his tone was defeated, and his eyes focused only in the chair in front of him.

With a feral sound, she grasped his shoulders and forced him to face her. "You're Sherlock bloody Holmes, what do you mean, _'I don't know'_? What about John and Mary?" Without a word, he brushed past her and out onto the deck. Addie hoped prison wasn't as bad as they said it was. The millionaire was entertaining himself by flicking John in the face while Bartholomew growled menacingly. The deafening roar of helicopter blades filled the air, just as the dog had launched himself at the newspaper mogul.

"Bart, _down_!" Addie yelled over the noise.

"The Appledoor files only exist in your mind, yes? The vaults don't exist?" Sherlock's voice traveled against all odds to his enemy, and the struggling man assented. Three things happened simultaneously, or at least, that's the way it seemed: Magnussen kicked Bart off, Sherlock took John's gun, and the former crumpled to the floor with a bullet wound in his chest. John and Adelaide screamed as Sherlock tossed the gun and stepped forward, hands in the air. Police rifles trained their scopes on the dark haired man, waiting for his next move, but Addie stumbled in front of him with a frightened look still painted on her face.

"What are you doing? Stay the hell _back_, Adelaide!"

She turned, slapping him as hard as she could under the stress she was under. After all, a dozen trained snipers with rifles pointed at you was insanely scary. "Your parents are not losing another child. _Not_ today. _Not_ on Christmas. Now, _shut up_, and get on your knees, Mycroft's coming."

"Addie—"

"Shut up!"

Sherlock had once again stopped talking to her. After being told to shut up so many times, he had finally caught the hint, but now Addie was missing his obnoxious, self-righteous tone making stupid points on meaningless arguments. Now, he was set to fly to the middle of nowhere, as Mycroft had so mildly put it, and she was getting the silent treatment from the younger brother.

"You should try once more," Mycroft urged, in a tone very uncharacteristic of him, almost, sad.

"Myc, he won't talk to me. He can't lie to me, and so, I assume, he just won't try."

He didn't even blink at her use of his shortened name. "He won't lie to you?"

"I've already told you he doesn't. He can, he just doesn't, so he resorts to ignoring me in lieu of telling me what's wrong."

"Have you ever considered that he's just _terrified_ to tell you?"

She smiled. "I _know_ he is. Which is why I'm asking you, where is he going?"

"Eastern Europe."

"And then?" Addie looked away from where Sherlock and John were talking next to the private jet Mycroft commandeered, but received no reply. "Mycroft?"

"He won't survive the mission."

"Then why are you _sending_ him?!"

"Addie, what do you propose I do? The government wants him gone. Short of shooting him myself, that's _all_ I can _do_." The elder Holmes sighed, leaning against the black Jaguar he and Adelaide had arrived in. "I was half-hoping he would run off before I sent him packing."

"Sherlock Holmes running away from a fight? When has that ever happened?"

"James Stilton, when he was nine. Ran all the way home from school in record time." Adelaide smiled, leaning against Mycroft. The man really was agreeable when he dropped all pretense of superiority and acknowledged that Addie could beat him to a pulp. Sherlock climbed the steps of the plane, shoulders slumped forwards, looking resigned to his fate. Before the doors closed, he stared in Adelaide's direction. With a weak grin, he waved at her before disappearing inside.

"Nothing?" John asked, throwing an arm around her shoulders, Mary at his side.

"Not a word, the bloody coward."

"He probably knows you want to break every bone in his body with a mallet, though," Mary interjected, grinning knowingly and rubbing her ever-expanding stomach.

Addie hugged the military surplus coat se had stolen from John long ago tighter around her body, watching as Mycroft impatiently waited for her to enter the car. Looking up, she saw the skies looked overcast, and she pulled her mobile out of her jean pocket to check the weather report. What she didn't expect, however, was to see a face she had watched for weeks on the television after Sherlock had done a swan dive off of St. Bart's Hospital. "_Myc_!" She shrieked at the top of her lungs, the elder Holmes already halfway out of the car with his own mobile attached to his ear. "John! _John_! Mycroft! Mary!" The three converged around her and stared at the screen, just as horrified as her.

"Brother of mine. How's the exile going?" Mycroft waited for a beat, probably listening to Sherlock's sarcastic reply. "Well, I hope you learned your lesson. You're needed here." There was another pause before Mycroft sighed, the only other sound being John and Mary talking. "England!"

Sherlock rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, wiping away tiny droplets from them in the process. He was beating himself up, telling himself he was an idiot and vowing to not get killed in Eastern Europe so Adelaide could have the honor of doing it, instead. Then, he got the call. His breathing turned ragged, and there was a cold sweat starting at his temples. This was impossible. He had seen him die. He had seen the gun tear a hole in the back of his skull. Moriarty couldn't have pulled the same stunt as he, could he? They were in danger. All of them. _Again_. And now there was Adelaide and Bart and the Watson's child to think of. He couldn't just disappear for two years like he had last time.

He felt the plane slow and bump as it touched the ground. Ever the impatient man, he threw the door open and the stairs down as they were still taxiing the vessel. His plan started here. His means for survival began _now_. With a running start, he dropped onto the pavement, adjusted his coat collar so it tilted up and ran a band through his already messy locks. Brushing past Mycroft, John and Mary, he reached for Adelaide, taking her head in his hands and crashing his lips against hers with such force that it made her knees buckle and force her against the passenger door of the Jaguar. When he pulled back, both of them were panting and John was staring at his usually very proper friends with incredibly wide eyes while Mary wolf-whistled. Addie brushed an errant curl away from his eyes and grinned just before her fist crashed against his jaw and knocked him to the floor with the force of the blow. She followed him down, her fists landing wherever they could before John managed to pull her off his best friend.

"_Addie_—"

"Don't _Addie_ me, Lock. I am going to end you before that psychopath has a chance to do it!" She growled, still kicking and struggling against John's grip.

"I'd believe you if you didn't keep calling me _Lock_."

"What is it with you and that nickname, you moron. Just because I'm not bothered to fully pronounce the most ridiculous of all your given names doesn't make me fond of you!" she bellowed.

Sherlock scrambled to his feet, lip trickling blood like a faucet the more he grinned. "No, but the fact that you still _bother_ to beat me up does. Fighting signifies intent to solve and/or eliminate the current crisis so a common ground may be reached. You still fight, Adelaide Villalobos. _You. Still. Fight._"

"Have you ever considered that she may just be _pissed_?" John asked, finally letting go of Adelaide, who had managed to simmer down.

"It doesn't really mesh well with my romantic gesture, now does it, John?" he spit through bared teeth in a lower tone.

"Oh, Sherlock, you really are _stupid_, aren't you?" Mycroft sighed, getting into the car. Addie followed him, all the while pushing Sherlock off of her while he attempted to hug her.

The car, cramped in the backseat as Addie tried to pass through Mycroft to get away from his brother, was home to Addie's last words of the day and Sherlock's last attempts of affection. With a feral growl, she grabbed his scarf and pulled his face flush to hers. The consulting detective grinned suggestively, but the irate woman was having none of it. "If you try to _touch_ me again, I will castrate you and feed Bart your testicles." Offering her open palm to Mycroft, he deposited a Swiss Army knife in her hand, and she flicked it open, laying the blade on Sherlock's thigh. There was nothing but golden silence.


	12. Kidnap

[Author's Note: Hi! Thank you all for reading and reviewing, you've all been absolutely amazing! He's another chapter, non-canon and a little brighter for you guys. Let me know what you think of it! I own nothing but the OC's and a cat who proofreads my chapters (he's terrible at it).]

The not-so-muted sound of screaming filled the air in the kitchen of 221B. John, his very pregnant wife Mary, and Mrs. Hudson were just having tea when the verbal tirade had begun. Mrs. Hudson started, spilling a little tea onto the, thankfully, clean table, causing her to tut dismissively.

"Those two are really into it, aren't they?"

John smiled, taking a bite from a biscuit before considering to answer. "Yeah, they are. I would have thought Sherlock would have given up by now. It's been over a week. She's no closer from letting him within a meter-radius from her."

"She won't let him near her, but she still agrees to lock themselves in Sherlock's room to argue? Well, isn't that odd."

"Oh, they're not in Sherlock's room, Mrs. Hudson," Mary could barely contain the giggle threatening to escape her throat. "They're at _Addie's_."

"Oh, that's not proper, that shouting," the landlady chided, muttering something about the neighbors. Her rant was interrupted, however, by the sound of crashing glass and a groan from a voice that was decidedly male. The three occupants listened with rapt attention at the sounds of Sherlock leaving 219, opening the door to 221B and trudging up the stairs. He appeared at the doorway, his left arm holding onto his right, which was looking a little odd at the height of his shoulder.

"Going well, Sherlock?" John asked, using his cup of tea to hide his grin.

Startled a bit by the sound, Sherlock groaned at the sudden movement and faced the kitchen. There was a dark bruise blossoming on his left cheekbone, and it was obvious he had a dislocated shoulder. However, the man forced a smile on his face, ignoring the screaming his cheekbone was doing and nodded in the affirmative. "Oh, every day I feel I'm closer to a breakthrough, John. Say, could you be a pal and just pop this back in place?" John laughed and stood from the table. He fumbled a few minutes with the arm before he pushed it back in with a sickening crunch and an almighty wail from the consulting detective.

"Now, how's it _really_ going?" John led Sherlock to the table and set a cup of tea in front of him.

The taller man's face met forcefully with the table and he mumbled incoherently for a few moments, all the while, everyone else tried not to laugh. "The woman is bloody impossible, John! What the hell am I supposed to do? She hates me."

"Not that I'm the best person to say this, but I wouldn't blame her. You sort of ripped her heart out, love," Mary said in a soothing tone, brushing his dark locks back in an effort to make him look less deranged.

"It's like I'm a ghost. I can be around her and she will not acknowledge me unless I purposefully intervene with her. At which point she throws things at me."

"Oh, but you were arguing today. That's a step up, isn't it?" The sullen man ignored the point.

"She stepped on me today, when she was getting out of bed."

Mary closed her eyes, knowing she wouldn't like the answer, but asked. "How does that even happen?"

"I sleep on her floor."

"Like a _dog_, Sherlock? Have some self-respect!" John argued.

"No, Bart gets to sleep on the bed."

* * *

In 219 Addie was cleaning up the shards of glass from the vase she just pulverized on Sherlock's face. She never would have thought her aim was that good, but she had hit her mark with incredible precision. Then again, she had been having a lot of practice in the last week. The door to 219 swung open and she took a deep breath, not surprised in the least to see Sherlock back in her flat. What did surprise her was seeing John and Mary tailing behind him. _Oh, it was going to be one of those days_.

"Addie, I know you're angry at Sherlock, but is it necessary to keep hitting him?" John asked in a very rational tone.

"I wouldn't keep hitting him or using him for target practice if he stopped running his mouth with me!"

"I do that when I get nervous!" Sherlock interjected. "You would see that if you got your head out of your— oh, I see what you mean."

"Furthermore," Adelaide continued as if her friend had not spoken. "I would no longer feel violent towards him if he just apologized for being an idiot."

"I've bought you gifts and cleaned and cooked. What else do you want?" His exasperated tone made Addie's hand twitch and Mary found that it was necessary to put herself between the two to avoid another fist-fight.

"I didn't want that stuff, I wanted you to have the guts to tell me you were wrong about how to handle things and that you're sorry!"

John sighed. Sometimes his best friend was thick. "You haven't apologized to her?"

"In my own way."

"Sherlock," he warned.

The dark-haired man folded his hands behind his back and sighed. "Adelaide, I am sorry you cannot see the equivalence of my actions to a verbal apology, but—" Addie punched him in the shoulder John had just popped back in. "Ouch—_what_?"

"You know what!"

"_Fine_! Can we please do this without Mummy and Daddy looking over our shoulders?"

"I don't know. Are you planning to say something that will make me ask Mary to shoot you?"

"Adelaide, I don't know what else to do. Yes, I was an idiot. I should have told you what was going on or at least not kissed you after the wedding if I knew this was going to happen. I'm sorry I dragged you along and put you in uncomfortable situations and basically make you miserable. I am sorry, alright. Sorry. Please, forgive me for it, but if you think I'm just stand here and grovel in submission until you see it fit to talk to me, you have another thing coming!" He finished determinedly, a little surprised to see Adelaide fighting to control a large grin from spreading on her face.

"You two kissed the day of our wedding? When did that happen? Why wasn't I told?" Mary asked with a smirk and closing her husband's open jaw.

Addie pointedly ignored the question, turning an attractive shade of pink before taking refuge in the front of Sherlock's black button up shirt and hugging him. "Really? I could have skipped the week of abuse with that? You are cruel, Adelaide!"

"Mary shot you, you still love her!"

"Technicality!" He bellowed back, Addie staring st him with dark, narrowed eyes. "God, I missed you!" His whole expression changed and he held her flush against him, a wide smile tugging at his lips while he buried his face in her hair.

"So have I, Lock."

"Now that we've all made up, everyone off to work!" John announced, rolling his eyes at his clearly idiotic bunch of friends. "Sherlock, Lestrade wants to see us at the Yard."

* * *

"_Oi_, you have a domestic again?" Lestrade joked, lifting the Police tape and letting the detective and his blogger through to the dead body crumpled against the building, dressed like a kangaroo.

"Addie and I do not have domestics. We have brief differences in opinion, ending with me getting my ass handed to me by a girl a head shorter than me," Sherlock remarked, using his magnifying glass to observe the body.

"Mate, that's not any better, you know."

The consultant ignored the remark and stood up straight, brushing dirt from his knees. "This man died choking on his own vomit, probably after ingesting some sort of poison, he was set into the suit after he was dead. You're looking for an entertainer, probably hirable for children's parties, given by the array of stains on the suit, and probably mot very popular because who the hell wants a kangaroo at their party? Was that all?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned his heel, and with a flourish of his coat disappeared from the crime scene.

"I think I liked him better when he was beaten and emotionally broken," Greg remarked, taking a swig of his coffee and telling his people what Sherlock had found.

* * *

The consulting detective stared at the wall behind the sofa. There were two dozen photos webbed together, pins in color-coded shades stuck into maps and random scribbling on odd pieces of paper mounted upon it. His hands were steepled under his chin in though, and Bart lay beside him staring intently at the wall, as well.

"These are my rats, Bart. If anything suspicious arises, I'll know it." The dog seemingly nodded in comprehension. Bart was a good substitute for John when he was trying to figure things out. After all, they offered about the same level of mental acuity, in his opinion. Ever since he had been turned around from his exile, in the time between begging forgiveness and tending his wounds, Sherlock had been building his case for Moriarty. That message was insanely troubling and no doubt meant for him. Someone was either trying to follow the consulting criminal's footsteps, or Moriarty himself was trying to tell Sherlock that he was not as clever as he thought he was. It also didn't help that he had found a note stapled to Adelaide's door. It was addressed to _'the virgin_', a nickname he had learned from the Woman that Moriarty liked to use for him. _'I like this one, Sherlock. She's feisty and smart. Maybe in the grand scheme of things I'll stay away from her and her little dog, too. Then again, I'm so changing. XX_' That had been the real reason he had been sleeping on her floor, not that he would ever tell her. There was an annoying gnawing sensation at the pit of his stomach that didn't let him push it back in his mind. A new tactic would have to be put into motion, surely. He sighed, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes to rub away the exhaustion. Surely John would come with more cases after he finished work.

"Bath time, Barty boy. You need a good wash after you rolled all around that mud in the park." He told Bart, the hound happily heading to the bathroom and jumping into the tub.

* * *

"What are you doing to my dog?" Sherlock started, turning around, red in the face. He held something behind his back in a fairly obvious manner and was obstructing the view of the bloodhound.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing. Why are you in my room?" His voice was a few octaves higher than his casual drawl and broke every now in then.

"You're one to talk about bedroom boundaries, Lock." Addie struggled to see around Sherlock while attempting to seem nonchalant about the whole thing, leaning against the doorframe. "Plus, I've been trying to get your attention for seven minutes, but you're in another world. Now, what have you done to Bart?"

"Nothing! Give me a minute, I'll take him to you!" He tried to urge her out if his quarters, which only made her more curious about what the man was doing. She lunged into the room, trying to struggle out of his grip to see past him. It took a few minutes of struggle before Addie popped her head out from under his arm, automatically falling into a fit of giggles. Sir Bartholomew Barkington, a proud and elegant bloodhound with regal lines sat on the crisp white linens of his adoptive father's bed, Sherlock's blue scarf knotted around his neck and coat draped around the animal's shoulders. It took only a minute to realize that what he was trying to hide behind his back was the stolen deerstalker hat people had now known to remember him by.

"Oh, Sherlock, really?" Addie gasped for air, mentally congratulating her companion for staying so perfectly still during this dress-up session. "Oh my God, put the hat on. I need to see this!" She fished her mobile out of her pocket as a thoroughly embarrassed Sherlock lowered the cap on his furry friend. Bart's tail wagged under the heavy Belstaff coat trailing behind him and Addie snapped a few dozen pictures of him in his new getup. "You have made my day, boys. Really, you have," she said wiping tears of mirth from her eyes and leaning against her neighbor whose nerves had settled enough to crack a smile.

"In all fairness, it was his idea," he joked, Bart making a noise of complaint, but otherwise sitting comfortably within the warm confines of Sherlock's coat.

"Of course it was," she replied, settling into his stance while he mentally celebrated the fact she had not punched him when his arms settled around her and his chin rested on her head. "So... Do you want to go to dinner?"

"With you?" He asked, surprised.

"No, with Lestrade. He's really shy about asking you—," she threw back with a grin. "Yes, with me, you twit. Get your coat, come on."

* * *

They had eaten at Angelo's, the overly grateful owner treating them to everything under the sun. They had left the little restaurant stuffed to the seams with Italian food and had opted for walking home to walk off the meal. They were silent, shoulder to shoulder tracing their steps down across the busy streets of London.

"Solve anything good today?"

"No. The things that baffle Scotland Yard are remarkably stupid. It's a _wonder_ London didn't fall into utter chaos while I was gone."

Adelaide laughed loudly, rolling her eyes at the dark-haired man beside her. "Aren't you a modest little one?"

"I'm nothing if not brilliant," his tone was haughty and he accented the fact with a nudge of his elbow.

"Oh, _piss off_, Lock." Her eyes were focused on the horizon and the lit streetlamps illuminating the darkness. She was met with silence. Looking over her shoulder, she saw two masked figures wresting her neighbor into a black hood and dragging him into a car. Sherlock could hear Addie's shrieks of distress and struggle blindly against his restraints to get away. _He needed to move. He needed to get out. He needed to get Addie. They had to escape._ A warm body was pushed against him, and he recognized Addie's shampoo. He breathed a sigh of relief at the realization. His fingers reached out and wrapped themselves around her wrist. He could feel the charm bracelet over her warm skin and she jumped, startled.

"Adelaide. Are you well?"

"Yes, I'm fine, Sherlock. Are you?"

"I'm fine. Don't worry. It'll be OK." She squeezed his hand in response, the sound if sniffling evident beside him. They stopped a short time later, dragged away in the same manner they had been put in. Sherlock did not recognize the sounds or smells if the place, only enough to know that Adelaide was beside him, shuffling her feet the way she did when she was nervous. He was forced into a chair that swayed back slightly by the force exerted and hand-cuffed to it. The sound of Adelaide shrieking filled his ears and he struggled to either get the metal links off of his hands or reach for the key he kept in his back pocket. The sound of feet shuffling alerted him and he grew more desperate in his intents of escape.

"Sherlock!" Another voice yelled.

"Mary? Mary, what's going on? Where's John? Can you see Adelaide?"

"Sherlock, there's something you should know," it was John's voice this time. The hood was ripped away from his head and he blinked against the sudden flood of light. "You punched me bloody hard earlier, mate." John, Mary, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly and Addie stood around his chair, grinning like mad, a large banner behind them read "Happy Birthday, Mr. Holmes". Even Mycroft looked slightly amused, leaning against the punch table in the back.

"Are you bloody _fucking_ kidding me?" Sherlock bellowed, throwing his head back, his hair sticking to his face in places from where he had been sweating.

"Now I forgive you," Addie said matter-of-factly before kissing his cheek and getting a piece of cake. The rest followed suit.

"Aren't you going to uncuff me?" He asked in a tired tone.

"Well, we took a poll and decided that since you're such a pain during parties, you'll stay tied to the chair for the remainder of it." Molly's smile could not have been any brighter. She was certainly right on track on the 'getting over Sherlock' plan.

The childish expression on his face spoke volumes. "How am I supposed to eat cake? Or open presents?" Adelaide dropped onto his lap and offered him a forkful of cake. With uncertain movements, he took the bite and chewed, watching with uncharacteristic curiosity as the woman broke off another piece, stopping only to use her index finger to wipe off some frosting off the corner of his lip and lick it off the digit. Sherlock swallowed thickly and nodded. "I'm perfectly fine like this, thanks," he told Molly, who smiled happily and offered Lestrade a quiet 'told you so'.

"Kidnap-themed surprise party?" Sherlock asked after swallowing another forkful of cake.

"You have to admit it was ingenious. You would have noticed something wrong if we planned a normal surprise party." She tilted a cup of punch to his lips and he drank deeply, blue eyes staring eerily at her.

"You think that was a wise choice after Moriarty's telecast?" He asked, licking his lips clean.

"We don't know it's him. And Myc thought it was funny."

The youngest Holmes rolled his eyes. "Oh, _joy_, you're on nick-name basis with my brother." His voice was as flat as day-old soda.

"I phone your parents every other day, as well."

"You don't!"

"One of us has to, Lock, and it's sure as hell not you or Myc."

"Why?"

Adelaide pondered, her eyes turning to the ceiling while she unconsciously brushed her hair back. Sherlock noticed the strands had been fading into their original dirty blond, most probablu due to the fact she had been camping at the hospital with him and left only for work. "Common decency, masochism, your baby pictures; who knows, really?"

"Oh, you think you're clever, don't you?" A charming smirk graced his face, eyes narrowing at her.

Adelaide snorted and leaned towards him, cupping a hand around his ear. "I'm not the one hand-cuffed to a chair, now, am I?"

"No, but you're also not the one being fed cake and punch by a pretty girl on your lap, either." He seemed delighted.

"True. _I wouldn't waste my time with _cake_, though_," she said seriously, making a show of dabbing the very corner of his mouth with frosting and licking it off. She clambered off, yelling "Gift time!" and leaving a very flustered Sherlock to recite the periodic table staring at the checkered floor.

* * *

"Do you want tea?" Addie asked as she closed the door of 219 behind them both, Sherlock hauling a mess of boxes inside.

He dropped on the sofa, setting the boxes beside him and taking his recently re-strung violin out of its case. It sounded perfect, the strings expertly stretched and tuned. "Not really. When did you do this?" He was referring to his made-over violin.

"It's surprising what I can get past you when you're nervous. Polishing and re-stringing your violin, changing your bow, feeding you, getting you to sleep. I was half-convinced I was going to have to take you to a mental hospital."

"Oh, shut it, you," he mumbled, setting the violin away. He had really missed a lot. Like the fact that she had practically moved his wardrobe, music stand and matrix gels into the flat for him.

"I'm going to bed. You coming?" she asked casually, the same way she had all week when she was tired. Sherlock wanted to kick himself. She wasn't ignoring him, he was filtering her out. Crap. She threw things at him because he would ask asinine questions after she had been trying to get his attention for God knows how long.

The consulting detective followed silently, rifling through his things for his pajamas. He changed quickly out in the hall and blindly navigated the dark room to his spot on the floor. "Oh, for Heaven's sake, Sherlock, are you really that thick? Get into the bloody bed, you ninny!" Addie cried in exasperation. Thankfully, she could not see her friend's face turn a dark shade of red as he pulled back the covers on the unoccupied side of the bed, patted Bart sleepily and slipped under the covers. Addie curled against his warm form, the usual fistful of his shirt clenched in her hand. "Good night, Lock. Happy birthday, you loon." His laughter rumbled through his chest, making a warm shiver run down her spine.

"Thank you, Adelaide." He brushed the hair covering her face away with a gentle sweep of his fingers. "Addie?"

"Yeah, Scotty?" She had taken to calling him that when he was being particularly difficult. He wasn't exactly fond of his full name, and apparently she wasn't fond of being kept awake longer than completely necessary. He gently pressed his lips to hers in a quick peck. In the dark, he could see Adelaide's eyes shoot open. "I'm awake. What's up? Nice weather, yeah?"

"Good night, Adelaide." Addie could hear the self-satisfied smile when he spoke.

"I hate you, Scotty."

"Whatever you say, Galatea" he said with a smug tone.

She shot up like on a spring, the lamp on her bedside lit in a second. "Where'd you hear that name, Sherlock?" she asked in frenzy.

"You're not the only one who can phone your friends' family, _Galie_, dear." With a smile, he closed his eyes and drifted asleep.


	13. Guardians

[Author's Note: Hey! I am reeeeeally happy with how many people are following and favorite-ing this story! I love all of you. Always remember to read and review: those little blurbs and my morning coffee are what get me running during the day. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a little fluffy, because I was feeling fluffy, so bear with me. Let me know what you think! I own nothing but the OC's and a bottle of hazelnut creamer.]

"Sherlock." The consulting detective did little else but hum in recognition of a voice. "Sherlock!" The same noise came out of the man. "_Sherlock!_" The tall, dark-haired man opened his eyes to the living room of 221B. He was laid out on the sofa, wearing a blue dressing gown over his black trousers and purple shirt and fingers steepled under his chin in thought. "Thank you for checking in, Scotty."

"Did you require something, Galie. I'm rather in the middle of something important. Case, you know."

Addie sighed. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and dyed its usual brown color, and looked generally unassuming in her jeans, novelty t-shirt and trainers. Her expression held nothing but boredom and exhaustion from having to explain to Sherlock for the millionth time that she knew very well that he did not have a case. It was ridiculous the things he lied about. Always the insignificant details. Won't lie to her because he's going to die, but to get out if tea with his own parents the tales he could weave. "No, you're not."

"Of course I do! The case of the watermelon rinds."

Addie groaned, reeling in the desire to smack him. "It was the brother."

Sherlock looked surprised and started his sentence a few times, "how'd you know?"

"Because half an hour ago you told John you were going to tell me you were still in the case to seem like a busy person since you know your parents are still in town. John wasn't here, I was." She pushed today's paper into his chest, "And the guy confessed yesterday." Sherlock had the decency to look sheepish under Adelaide's scorching gaze. "It's Saturday, Sherlock. Can we please do something? A film? A walk? _Anything_?"

A confused expression crumpled his face. "_Why_ on Earth would we do _that_?"

Kneeling down by the sofa, Addie pinched the bridge of her nose, trying her hardest to put this in 'Sherlockian'. "Lock, I am endeared by your particular level of sociopathy and I honestly would not change you. I'm not a girl who spends her days planning her wedding day or planning anything borderline romantic, but I still am a girl. I want a date."

"You want fruit?"

Addie caught herself right before her hands lunged to wrap themselves around his slim neck. "I want you to think about it for a minute."

There was a moment of silence, his eyes moving back and forth in a clear indication that he was stuck inside his Mind Palace. A look of realization lit up his features. "Oh, you mean-" he trailed off as he gestured between them with his right hand. "Like an outing. _Where_?"

"Somewhere. _Anywhere_. You know all of London, you have a ridiculously high IQ, _use it_!"

A charming smile blossomed on the consulting detective's lips before he nodded. "Oh, I know _exactly_ what you'd love," he said in a voice that made her shiver while adding ti that the fingers he was dancing up and down her bare arm.

* * *

"Sherlock! Oh, I can feel it! Almost there!" Addie panted, clearly overworked and in a compromising situation.

"Adelaide, faster. Now, Addie!" Sherlock urged, kicking at a masked figure as hard as he could, shifting their weight once again while Adelaide tried to reach for the handcuff key in his back pocket. They had been bound together, back to back and hung from a chain n the ceiling of a decrepit building marked for demolition. Apparently Sherlock's idea of a hot date had been to take her to the dodgy end of town and hope for some crime.

"_There_!" Addie yelled in success, taking the key and promptly unlocking his cuffs. The was a parlay of blows before the consulting detective turned back and untied his date, catching her as she dropped from her chains. Once her dusty Chucks had hit the cement floor, Sherlock had taken her hand and hauled her through the streets of London without even looking back. When they made it to the landing of 221B, they fell onto the stairs, breathing ragged and difficult. Both of them had their hair plastered to their faces and were covered with an array of scratches, sweat and dust.

"We almost got killed!"

Sherlock grinned, "I know, isn't it _great_?" She stared flabbergasted at him, sitting so casually next to her on the stairs. In a flash, she was on his, lips pressed onto his, straddling his hips while he distractedly ran his hands through her, now, loose hair.

_Crash_!

"Where the _hell_ have you two been?" The good Dr. Watson asked, the door to 221B quivering in its hinges.

"John!" Sherlock growled, over Addie's shoulder.

"Where have you been? I've been _calling_!"

"We were a little tied up, Johnny." Addie replied, sliding off her neighbor's lap, trying to look nonchalant.

"_What_?" They both showed him their wrists where the angry red welts of where the hand-cuffs dug into their skin resided. John looked exasperated for a moment or two before shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. "Mary's at the hospital. She's here!" In a flurry of arms and legs the three stepped out onto the curb and Sherlock hailed a cab.

The looks they received from the staff and guests if St. Bartholomew's were that of distress and concern. Addie had tried to fix herself during the ride ti the hospital and looked half-way decent, but Sherlock paid little mind that he looked a bit like death had warmed over. They made impressive time to the maternity ward and quickly found the room Mary was in. As soon as they stepped through the door, the new mother raised her eyes to greet them.

"What the hell happened to you two?" she asked, an eyebrow quirked in question. "I didn't take you for the bondage type, Sherlock."

"_Oi_!" Addie complained as her neighbor made an impatient noise and rolled his eyes.

"Never mind my bedroom preferences, where is she?!" He asked, surprisingly excited to see the Watson's baby girl.

Mary grinned, turning to a bassinet next to her bed and reaching for a tiny bundle wrapped in bright pink sheets. "Well, Sherlock, Adelaide, here she is!"

The taller man shed his sodden coat and rolled up his sleeves, extending his arms greedily. "Mine! Me! Me!" Mary laughed, handing over her daughter to the maniac that had saved her..

"Careful, Sherlock or I'll shoot you!"

He ignored her, wrapping the little thing in his arms and making faces at her. "Oh, Mummy is being funny, isn't she? Yes, she is! Mummy should remember that I know where she lives and am not afraid to torment her the rest of my days. Oh, you are a cute little one. Just like Mummy and Uncle Sherlock."

"Is _anyone_ else concerned that he's talking to my daughter the same was he talks to the dog?" John asked and Addie nodded her head, patting his arm comfortingly.

"Oh, I'm going to feed you _so_ much sugar and then hand you off to your parents. Then, when boys start coming 'round, I'll put that bottle of sulfuric acid to good use, won't I... _Whatever your name is_."

Addie looked between the parents and they shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest, really. We have a few days for it." John replied, sitting next to Mary, who looked exhausted.

"Can I have her now?" Addie asked, offering her arms to Sherlock, who stepped back and gave her a look.

"You can have her when she gets her menses or has a pregnancy scare. The rest of the time, she's mine."

"_Sherlock_!"

"Strictly speaking, she's ours, but seeing how fond you are of her already, we had a question, Sherlock," John interrupted the childish argument and his best friend turned to look at him. "Should anything happen to Mary and I, we agreed that our best friend should take care of the little tyke." Sherlock blinked rapidly, but said nothing. "Not this again! _Sherlock_?" There was no words. "Sherlock, we want you to be our baby's Godfather."

The man snapped out of his stupor. "John, let's be rational. I forget to feed myself, let alone another human being. My job, my lifestyle, the responsibility-"

"You're doing it!"

"_John_!"

"I don't want to hear it. You're my baby's Godfather!" John said with an air of finality, causing Addie to point and laugh at the pouting detective while he whispered things the newborn could not understand. "I don't know why you're laughing, _you're_ the Godmother," he added, dropping his hard stare on Adelaide.

"You see, I'd love to, but Bart is... Allergic... To... Children."

"No dice, darling. You're the one who'll make sure Sherlock is feeding her regularly," Mary said with a smile.

Addie smiled. "I'll be happy to do it, Mary," she said happily, going to the happy couple and hugging them both tightly. "Now I just have to find someone to take care of Sherlock and we'll be set."

John tilted his head, smiling broadly. "Judging by the display on the stairs, I'm pretty sure Sherlock's being taken care of, Addie."

"Display? Staircase? What were you people doing while I pushed out my child?" Mary asked, a curious and excited energy coming over her.

"- and your Daddy is a ponce for interrupting me and your Auntie Addie on the stairs," Sherlock continued mumbling to his Godchild.

"Sherlock!" Addie scolded.

"She doesn't retain information yet! Do you, Princess?" He said the last bit in a high, playful tone.

"If that doesn't do it for you, I'll take him off your hands," Mary remarked to Addie with a grin, earning her a nudge from her husband.

* * *

Sherlock held open the door of 221B and waited for Adelaide to step through. Bart barked at them from his position on Sherlock's chair where he had been lazing all day. The owner if the flat fell onto the sofa, stretching out languidly against the leather and closing his eyes. They remained that way even when he felt the cushions sink with Addie's weight as she carefully climbed into the tight space between the back and his own body. He shifted to grant her better movement and guided her head to his chest just as he felt her body settle down against his. Pale, long fingers ran the length of her curls and down to the small of her back, cycling like a well-oiled machine.

"I'll do better next time," he muttered quietly. He opened one eye when he felt her questioning look. "The _date_. I'll do better next time. A little less bodily harm, a little more London atmosphere."

She giggled softly. "Then it's not a _Sherlock Holmes_ date."

"True. Maybe that's why they're not very popular," he remarked jokingly.

"I want dates."

Sherlock sighed. "Give me a break and let me finish this day, at least. We can have one tomorrow."

"No, a real one. The kind you can fill with cream cheese and eat." Addie laughed, resting her chin on his chest and staring at him with wide, green doe-eyes.

"You're hungry?" She nodded. His smile was uncharacteristically honest and excited as he considered the situation. "Oh, then I believe I can still salvage the day. I'll cook." He began to slide off the sofa, gently pushing Addie off of him. She, on the other hand pulled him by the front of his shirt towards her.

"It can wait," she whispered, pressing her lips to his and convincing him to spend a few more minutes on the sofa. The man was only too happy to oblige, surprisingly enough. His hands rested comfortably on the small of her back, not drifting even a fraction from their position, but, instead, pressing lightly on the little patch of skin exposed between her t-shirt and jeans. "For a sociopath who loathes any sort of emotional expression, you are a decent kisser."

"Decent?" He looked offended at this.

"It's no fault of mine that you are internally flipping out and trying to work out the mathematical Euler diagram for most efficient angle of approach when you should clearly be thinking of how long before I forget that I was hungry so that you can spend the rest of the evening like this."

"I already know the answer to that one," he replied with a grin, pecking her lips and taking her head in his hands. His thumbs ran in small circles on her cheeks. "You look fantastic when you look a mess," he admired, taking in the crumpled look of her clothes, the smudges on her skin and the mess her hair was in.

"Snake charmer."

"And you my very poisonous snake." She laughed, rolling her eyes at him. He sighed, momentarily catching a glimpse of a fluttering paper from the web above on the wall. "Would you like a crepe? I'm fantastic at crepes," he said, managing to slip away from her before she could protest and stomping to the kitchen.

"Sherlock!" Addie groaned, momentarily face-planting into the sofa and mumbling into the leather, who absorbed her tirade with grace. "You know, at some point you're going to have to talk to me about this!" She warned, following him into the kitchen and observing with fascination as he stirred a bowl of batter. There was no response. "Lock, I'm serious!"

He set the bowl on the counter with a thud, batter flying in all directions, he stared with hard eyes at the woman in front of him. "What do you propose I say? Hi, Adelaide,_ little_ tidbit, I'm terrified of the fact that I may come home one day to find your corpse on the couch along with that of my best friend, his wife, my landlady, my contact at Scotland Yard, my brother and my parents. _Yeah_, apparently a psychopath has made it his mission to tear me down piece by piece, and as much as it would hurt losing _anyone_ on that list, if he hurts you in any way, I'd already have lost because there's _no_ way I bounce back from that one. If you could do me a favor and _not_ die, that'd be fan-_fucking_-tastic."

Addie recovered from her shocked expression quickly and managed to look nonplussed. "That would be a start, I imagine." They stared at each other blankly for a long while, not talking, not blinking, barely breathing. The two broke into a bout of laughter, bidding off who was being most ridiculous.

"I hate that you handle my sociopathy so well."

"I probably won't sleep for a week, don't worry."

"I don't know what to do, Addie. I don't like not knowing."

She skirted around the table and lay a hand on his shoulder, a soft smile on her face. "Welcome to the world of us lesser mortals." He leaned down to kiss her, hands running up and down her arms, enjoying the tickling sensation that the static between the two bodies formed. "Now make me your damn French pancakes."


	14. Awkward

[Author's Note: Haven't updated in a few days, so here you go. It's a frank chapter about Sherlock and Addie's odd relationship. They... well, they have issues. There was a request for me to do the baby's christening, so there's a snippet about it, but I haven't been to one in so long that I forget how they go. Plus, we don't need any more excuses to eternally damn Sherlock to hell. Anyway, let me know what you think in that nifty review box. I don't personally love this chapter, but I think it was a necessary evil for them and for some Moriarty plot lines. I own nothing but the OC's and a pack of gum.]

Bleary eyed and hair sticking out everywhere, Addie woke up to the sound of a somber tinkling of keys. She inhaled sharply, rubbing her sleep-riddled eyes to try and focus on the bare walls of Sherlock's bedroom. _Well, he brought my keyboard, clearly._ She shrugged off the white sheets, momentarily staring at them in distaste for their unholy blandness and tried to remember coming into the detective's room. She could not recall, so she assumed she had fallen asleep on the sofa and he had moved her to the more comfortable furniture. The clock on the far wall read 3:42 am, and she cursed the man for being awake at such an hour. Trudging out the door, she found him sitting on the sofa, keyboard in front of him, button-up Oxford shirt undone and hair pasted to his forehead with sweat.

He looked worse for wear, and stared unblinkingly at the ivory keys in front of him, even when she laid a hand on his shoulder, feeling his skin was clammy and the fabric of his shirt was drenched. "Nightmare?" She asked for the eighth time that month.

"Nightmare," he replied simply, fingers tapping random keys on their own accord.

"And?" She prodded a little further. "Lock? _Lock_!"

His fingers smashed down on the keys and made an awful sound, Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to control the worse of his temper. "Forgive me, Addie, if I do not find pleasure in the idea of relating to you my most recent of excruciating mental experiences and in so causing you another series of sleepless nights that bring nothing more than exhaustion and bitter feelings."

"I was just trying to help," she replied quietly, sinking on the sofa next to him and pressing her lips to his temple.

"I know."

"You're pale, Sherlock. Are you sure you're not coming down with something?" She fussed around him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead to gauge his temperature and smoothing back his hair.

"Certain. It's just shock and jitters. However, if you would please pass me the bin beside you, I'll appreciate it."

"What?"

"Addie I'm going to be sick! _The bin_!" In a flash she pushed the small basket into his chest and he bent over it with violent resolve. She ran her hands in circles on his back, soothing the spasmodic movements of his heaving as she did so.

"Is there anything else I can do for you? Cup of tea? Coffee? Some saltines?" She asked, taking the bin from his embrace and heading to the bathroom to empty it out. The same digits that had been tapping at the keys of her keyboard were now wrapped around her wrist. The self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath looked absolutely ordinary in his fear and wide eyes.

"Don't leave me!" He said desperately, tugging gently on her arm.

"I'm just going to empty this and rinse it out. I'll be in the next room." His only reply was a stare with bright, glossy eyes. "Oh, be serious. I'll be in the next room over. I'll talk to you the whole time," she said gently, prying his fingers off of her wrist, only to have him wrap them on her forearm. "I need to empty this. Either you sit down and try to calm your nerves and wait for me to come back, or you come with me."

With that comment is how Addie ended up sitting on top of the toilet lid, reading a novel on her mobile phone and waiting for Sherlock to step out of the shower to wash away the remnants of his nightmare and sick. The water turned off and he hastily dried and dressed behind the frosted glass and slipped calmly out of the shower and stood awkwardly in the center of the small room. Adelaide blindly reached beside her and tossed him his toothbrush. It was a moment before he padded to the sink beside her and washed up.

"Would you like to play Cluedo?"

"Would you like to eat cyanide?" She hadn't even looked up from the screen of her phone to answer. John had warned her enough times to never indulge the man with the game. She glanced up. "We need to _sleep_, Sherlock."

"I'm not tired."

"You've been up for three days. You're going to sleep."

"I hardly think you possess the authority to command me to bed, as you're neither my mother nor a doctor."

She turned her screen off and laid the device on her lap. "Sherlock, I have work tomorrow, I need to sleep. You don't want to be alone. The only reasonable option is to go to sleep. Furthermore, I'm getting a little annoyed at your sleepy grouchiness, so either you go to bed and have a good night's sleep or I will call John to down you with a _not-so-mild sedative_."

Looking affronted, he stepped up to where she sat, "You think you're being smart, talking about reasonable and threatening me with John, but don't for a second think that I believe it's out of _concern_ for me. You're just here hiding out from whatever it was you left back in Australia, you holed yourself out in a city where you know no one and bought a dog because you were lonely and you've adopted just enough friends to have some semblance of social interaction in your life. You'd rather just be left alone and you know that if I'm asleep I won't bother you anymore!"

Taking a single breath and passive as ever, Adelaide stared unblinking at the detective. She measured her voice before replying. "Are you done yet?"

"Oh, I'm just getting started," he spat in a hateful tone. "You've got issues with your family ever since your mother left you and your siblings to the care of an overbearing father at the age of twelve, so your mind got warped. Every single tied you had was severed to the point that you decided that you'd study science because it meant less interaction with other people. You're pleasant enough to strangers, but lack a general concern for the populace because you're not confident. Probably because you've been outshone by your siblings all your life. Not because you're not smart, but because you lack the drive. Your concern that you're not good enough in comparison to your siblings is only legitimized by every failed attempt to blending into normal social circles, e.g. your best friend is an assassin along with a danger-loving husband and you're in love with a _sociopath_."

Adelaide chuckled drily. "You seem to have forgotten my issues with the female populace, my obviously dyed hair, my love of comic books and my overbearing attachment to your parents. Any comment on that?"

Sherlock ignored her. "You're a mess and I have no idea _why_ I've stuck with you."

"You want to steal my dog, my instruments and my food," she replied in kind, patiently waiting for the tirade to end.

"_Get out!_" he bellowed, and with a shrug she stood from the lid, skirted around him and exited the apartment. It took Sherlock a whole minute of staring at empty air to realize that he had just said off all this out loud, under stress and without meaning. "_Fuck._"

He opened the door to her flat and tip toed quietly into the space. Her bedroom door was locked, something that never happened. He began to recall a dream, a nightmare. _Closed doors and mirrors deceiving his eyes, Adelaide in chains, getting there too late, and John taking a fall_. His fists struck the wood with impressive force, knocking like a madman. "Addie! Adelaide! Addie, please!" He yelled from his side of the door, not a peep was heard inside. His voice cracked and his vision became blurred with tears. "Adelaide! Answer me!" He breathed in a most spasmodic of manners.

The door swung open, revealing a frantic Addie, who, upon hearing the detective's sobs from inside the room had rushed to open the door and caught the man who had tumbled to his knees, knuckles bleeding and bruised. "Lock, what the _hell_ did you do?" She admonished softly, lightly touching his knuckles and sighing.

"Moriarty. The mirrors. John. So much blood." He tried to speak between his sobs but it was impossible. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't leave. Please, not like Redbeard."

"Redbeard? Your dog?"

"_Blood for Mary, Blood for John, Blood for their daughter or son. What is left for the lovely lass? To tread down dear Redbeard's path_." He recited quietly, in Moriarty's accent. "He left me that last week."

"Put down like a dog. I guess it's sort of poetic," she said with an odd smile, all the while gripping the edge of the soft, gray t-shirt she used for bed to wipe at his bleeding hands, even though the flow had pretty much stopped.

"That's not funny!" He bellowed in a weepy voice.

Addie soothed him softly. "I know, I know. I laugh when I'm nervous, you know that." Gently, she grabbed his arm and stood him up, dragging him the short distance to the bed and let him sit down. It seemed he didn't notice he was still crying, but realized that he was tired and lay back on the turquoise sheets.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Yeah, you said that." She remarked slipping in beside him and kissing his shoulder before dragging the sheets over his body.

"I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did."

"I didn't mean to _say_ it," the corner of his mouth twitched with a smile.

"Now, _that_ I believe."

"I am the world's worst boyfriend, aren't I?" He rubbed his eyes angrily, turning to look at her, blue eyes bloodshot.

Addie tilted her head, making a painful face. "Dear Sociopath, please stop throwing around such terms as 'love' and 'boyfriend' if you want to sleep in this bed. With relative fondness, Your Socially Functioning Equivalent."

"Fear of commitment? How _very_ telling. I see that your mother—" he started before Addie slapped a hand over his mouth.

"I don't need the audiobook on my life, Scotty. There's no one else here, stop showing off." She removed her hand just to hear him laugh, forcing a small tilt of her lips.

"As your boyfriend, I think that—"

"Lock, I swear—"

"When love blossoms within—"

"Scotty, I will dismember—"

"Girlfriends should treat their sig—"

"I will sleep with Mycroft just to spite you!" She shouted, Sherlock snorted.

"Good luck explaining where everything goes." Adelaide made an impatient noise and turned her back on the mood-swinging man. With tentative touches, he ran his fingers down the bumps of her spine until he reached the small of her back where he traced all the way to her hip. His fingers, then, entertained themselves with making circles on the hip bone that delicately jutted out over the flannel bottoms of her pj's. A shiver ran down her spine at the sensation of his breath on the back of her neck right before his lips pressed down on the skin and repeating the action to the back of her shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

He now kissed the junction between her neck and her shoulder and she shivered again. "I thought this much was obvious. Appealing to your animalistic side of touch and expectations in order to seduce you," he said it as if there was no other explanation to his actions.

"I got that much, but why? And I don't mean your cause to effect answer. I mean to ask, why do you desire that effect? _Now_?" She was starting to grow tired of fighting against him and had practically melted into the feeling of his lips barely touching her skin and enjoyed the moment.

"Isn't that what we're _supposed _to do?" And moment was over. Addie immediately made distance between them and she pulled the sheets up to her neck. _Yep, still sociopath._

"Good night, Lock."

_Simultaneous conversations_

* * *

"Adelaide didn't let me seduce her last night." John spit up the coffee he has sipped and stared, horrified, at Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock. Really not my area. Please... You didn't tell her those _exact_ words did you?"

* * *

"He actually said _'seduce you'_? Like a turn of the century cad?" Mary asked, giving baby Delilah a bottle.

"Yes, it was horrifying. It was the single most unromantic and unsexy come on I have ever had." Addie remarked, her sides splitting with laughter.

"So, obviously, you loved it, I assume."

* * *

Sherlock poked around his jar of eyeballs, trying to pick one out for his next experiment. "She hated it. I think I did something wrong. I mean all the signs were there and going fine."

"I can tell you a million things wrong with that very _sentence_!" John had abandoned his drink and was pinching the brdge of his nose, trying to quell the headache coming on.

* * *

"He had the nerve to say I was _in love _with him." Addie was giving Delilah her bottle and cooing at the small child.

Mary scoffed, rolling her eyes with exasperation. "You idiot, you are in love with him!"

* * *

"You idiot, _you're_ in love with _her_. Bloody hell, Sherlock, for a genius... I tell you."

"Don't be absurd, John. I'm a high-functioning sociopath—"

"Who can't -and hasn't for months- bare to sleep without her in the same square footage. Face it, you're whipped."

* * *

"Apparently I'm in love with you," Addie said plainly as she stepped into her flat, eyeing Sherlock on the sofa with Bart.

"Apparently I'm whipped for you, whatever that means."

"I'm not in love with you," she murmured, plopping down beside him, staring straight at the wall in front of her.

"I'm not whipped."

They were still, each not speaking while they quietly contemplated in their minds and organized their thoughts. Or at least, that's what they would have done, had they not been magnetically attracted to each other, meeting in the middle of the couch in a passionate embrace while they blindly grabbed at each other. Bart barked at them, confused at their behavior and the articles of clothing flying from the tumble of arms and legs and falling, discarded and unnecessary, on the floor. Bart was still barking when they clumsily entered the bedroom, attached at the lips and slammed the door behind them.

* * *

"So… how was the sex?"

"Mary!" John and Adelaide exclaimed in unison, the female of the two turning a million shades pinker than her male chorus. Sherlock remained silent.

"I'm sorry. There was an elephant in the room, I addressed it. It's no big deal," she said, putting around while putting down breakfast in front of the three of them.

"The morning of your daughter's christening? Really, Mary?" John asked, his face screwing up in distaste, clearly not wanting to think about whatever his best friend and his wife's best friend had been doing or didn't do.

"Awfully loud," Addie commented before biting into a piece of toast. John groaned.

"Loud? _Ugh_, Addie."

"Bart was barking outside, John. He woke Mrs. Hudson."

"I think we've had enough of the story," Sherlock suddenly piped up from the corner, tucking into his eggs with an interest that was difficult to believe was his.

"Mrs. Hudson? What happened? Why is this of interest?" Mary asked, a delighted smile on her face. John gave her a look. "Oh, come on. I'm a mother and I live in the suburbs, give me this one thing."

"She thought there was a break-in so she came to check on us."

"Don't!" Sherlock interjected.

"We didn't notice right away."

"Adelaide, I will _pay_ you to stop."

"Once we did, well… Sherlock got a little shy."

"Meaning?" John asked, suddenly piqued.

"He ran to his flat and locked himself in his room until today."

John broke out in laughter while Mary looked disappointed by the lack of gossip. She sat down to have a bite to eat. "You guys are a terrible couple. You can't even make bad decision correctly."

"I'm friends with you, aren't I? Addie asked, cheekily, earning her a joking glare. "Now, how about we present your kid to God?"

* * *

"With this oil, you are marked a child of God," the vicar said solemnly, while Addie held the baby and Sherlock had his arm around her.

"To make her extra crispy for the big, bad wolf," Sherlock muttered in her ear, causing her to giggle. The vicar stared at them crossly,

"With this candle, shall you receive the Light of God."

"Because every good dinner is by candle light," he commented, causing Addie to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

Addie and Sherlock joined Mary and John around a stone basin and lowered Delilah, her tuft of wild sand blond hair sticking out everywhere, over it. "I baptize you, Delilah Henrietta Watson in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

"Everyone's invited to the feast," Sherlock remarked, a little louder than just for Addie's ears. Mary had to grab John by the shirt to keep him from circling the basin and punching his teeth in.

"One hour, Sherlock! I asked you for one hour!" John hissed through barred teeth back at the house. Addie was carrying Delilah and making funny faces at her that caused the child to break into a wide smile. The action made the consulting detective smile as well. That is, of course, before he remembered what he was doing and slapped himself. "Oh, please tell me you didn't ruin my daughter's baptism because you were too busy making Addie amused with you."

"Then I won't tell you," he said simply, smiling brightly, albeit slightly creepily, at his best friend.

John smiled, despite his best efforts to remain grumpy. "Sherlock Holmes, don't you dare tell me you're not whipped."

The taller man groaned impatiently, leveling the doctor with a glare. "I am _not_ whipped."

"Oh, but you _are_ and it's so adorable to watch to scuttle under my watchful gaze."

"I'm merely concerned for her safety. I'm concerned for all of your safeties."

"I don't see you trying to seduce me, now do I?" John laughed, watching Sherlock fight a battle with his mouth and lose it dearly.

"You're not my type," he replied with a glare before disappearing from his best friend's watchful gaze.

* * *

"Addie, you're not even listening," Sherlock complained, pointing at the differently colored pins on the web Sherlock had made on the wall, the thing having grown exponentially in size since the last time she had seen it.

Adelaide had been kicking off her heels with a groan, frankly tired from the trip, the day's events and the fact that Sherlock bloody Holmes had not shut up during a single part of the day. She smiled softly. She should have figured this would happen, should anyone ever enter the inner sanctum of his life. Now she felt for John, having had to listen to him day and night for years. This was a little different, though. He still tried so hard to prove to her that he was clever, he showed off (sometimes to her expense) and he made sure to be in her good books. She surmised that this was the way in which he showed his interest in her, an insight to the dark and convoluted thinking pattern he possessed. While it was fantastic to see his mind at work, she was dying on her feet, at the moment. Bart curled himself up at her feet and stared curiously at his part-time owner, who was wielding a marker and pointing to different directions and painting different lines onto the sheets.

"I'm listening, Lock. I really am," she assured for the fourth time that hour, leaning back into the cushions and closing her eyes. "Wait, why would a baker need a gun in his shop when his shop's in a nice neighborhood, has insurance and private security cameras?" Her eyes were still closed when she posed the question, only to be outstandingly startled when she felt something odd and opened them, seeing the man she called a friend staring unblinkingly at her not a centimeter from her face.

"You're a genius. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're fixating on the nun. You've been talking about her for the last forty five minutes, and I'd like you to stop, it's weird."

The man smiled. "Afraid you'll be upgraded?"

"Afraid I'll discover a tendency of yours I'm really not comfortable with."

"You think I like nuns?"

"I think you like challenges, which speaks volumes about what you're doing with me."

"You think you're my new puzzle?" He was amused now.

"No, you solved the puzzle long ago. You're left with the challenge."

"I got you into bed, already."

"You're cute and borderline not-annoying. That's not the challenge."

"Then what is?"

"Not me," she said simply, green on blue staring holes into each other.

"Are you suggesting I'm challenging myself?" He drawled slowly.

"Aren't you?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?" She shrugged, noncommittal. "I'm not challenging myself into feeling."

"Oh, I know that's not the challenge. You feel just fine."

"Then what is?"

"Whether or not you will muck it up, like every other relationship you have. You have boundaries, and you eliminated them with me."

"Don't you feel special?"

"Being an experiment? Oh, Lock."

"You called me _Lock_, so you're not upset," she rolled her eyes. He was beating a dead horse with that argument. "No, you do that. When you're angry, you call me by my full name. _Scotty_ when I'm annoying you."

"You forgot something?" She grinned and he raised an eyebrow in question. "You're _always_ annoying."

"You don't care." He pecked her nose, a giggle escaping her at the gesture.

"For once, you're right." He plopped down beside her and rested his chin on top of her head.

"Did you say I was cute?" He asked with a wicked smile.

"God, you have a one-track mind, boy."

"You think I'm cute!"

"I also think you're a moron, why don't we focus on that?"

"I'm a cute moron, though. You said it yourself."

"And you picture me naked when you think no one is looking, shall we evaluate that?"

"So, about Moriarty's web," he said quickly, looking at the papers behind where they sat and face turning a dark shade of red.

"Oh, I was taking a stab in the dark with that one. I'm glad it worked out."

"I hate you!"

"I hate you, too. You're annoying."

"So's your face!" he replied childishly. Addie smiled, leaning heavily against his body and closing her eyes, drifting to sleep only a few seconds later.


	15. Beheading

[Author's Note: Whoooo, new chapter. Whoooo, Sherlock's head! Whooooo, baby! Ok, so I'm a little hyper. This chapter is a glimpse inside Sherlock's head to let you know what he thinks of everyone before I drop Irene Adler for a while in there. Let me know what you think or if I lost you at some point. Hopefully it's as fun for you to read as it was to write. I own nothing but the OCs and a packet of saltines.]

Well, hello. I am William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Mr. Sherlock Holmes to you lot, and this is my Mind Palace. Do try and not touch anything while you're here, it damages the rooms. I'm not entirely sure _why_ you're here, but if you'll keep to the cordoned off areas, I shall permit you to follow me into my most precious hideaway.

"Sherlock." Oh, bloody—wow. _Crap_, close your mouth, you twit. You look like a moron. I guess I should be trying to listen to what she's saying, and not wondering what's under that green dress. _Yes, yes, Sherlock Holmes is human_. Get on with the surprise and get over it. It's not like I'm a drooling, idiotic buffoon that will follow with unchaste eyes anything that prances by in a skirt. No, that's John you want. However, Adelaide... In that green dress I love, in those impossibly high shoes she tortures herself with and that small smile that lets you know you're an idiot for even wanting her. Well, it's nothing short of hypnotic. Don't tell her I said that. We're not that type of... Whatever we are. No matter, she'll make my life hell, is all I'm saying.

"_Sherlock!_"

"Can't a man calmly review his thoughts without a woman screeching her lungs out at him!"

"We're going to be late to your bloody knighting, moron!" Oh. Yes. That. We could skip it altogether, if you ask me. "I'm not asking you, am I?" Right. Keep it to yourself, Sherlock. I keep doing that.

"Do we _have_ to go?" I know I'm whining, but I would very much rather chew off my arm than stand in this penguin suit for much longer.

Adelaide looks a little angry. I may have been complaining all month about it. To the point in which she asked Mycroft if I could take Bart just so that I would stop my mewling. Well, it worked, so who's mewling now? Take that British Empire! "In the car _now_!" The way she hisses words makes my backbone all but disappear and with a smile, I scatter off to the curb with Bart in tow and slide into the car, Addie sliding right in after me and closing the door.

We were shepherded into a waiting area to await for the Queen. People of all sorts of ranks spoke to us. I had no clue who anyone was. Mary and John, who joined us, were speaking animatedly to all these higher-up puppets while I kept to the company of my favorite canine... And Bart. Damn, she'd kill me if she heard that. However, she hasn't slapped me, so I didn't say it out loud. I know I shouldn't joke that way. She, after all, tried to teach me some flashcards of the monarchical who's who. I deleted it, but it was a nice gesture. Not so much on my part. All of a sudden everyone was bowing and curtsying. I stared blankly at the elderly woman I recognized from my money. Doesn't mean I adhered to protocol, but I realized it was her. I'm not _stupid_, after all.

"Your Majesty, please forgive Mr. Holmes. He is a man of unusual mannerisms and does not realize that he is breaking protocol. I assure you he is both honored and humbled to be called into your Knight's circle, although he understands that the honor should not be his, as he was only thinking of the welfare of Queen and Country, Ma'am." Addie said with a soft voice when the woman looked at her questioningly.

"Please do not make excuses that fall so far under false pretenses that they seem like a fantasy, Miss Villalobos. Mr. Holmes is not adhering to protocols because he doesn't want to. Mycroft has told me enough about this sibling of his that I shouldn't be surprised. I appreciate your efforts, but they are unnecessary. I shall forgive Mr. Holmes only on the grounds that he has saved my life and kept my country safe." The Queen announced, her eyes never really leaving me, even when I knew I had that odd smirk that John always found unsettling. This was my ticket out of here.

I had slung an arm around the woman's shoulders, as if I knew her all my life. Addie cringed, watching the Royal Guard slowly close in on my form. "Oh, Addie, she understands how I roll. I mean, she is the Queen. Not that that means half a pain nowadays, but it's a nice title to have, eh?" John was opening and closing his mouth like a fish while Mary shook her head frantically, but it was Mycroft that was the funniest of the lot. His cheeks were red and blotchy and if he had a fighting bone in his body he would have broken my jaw by now. "Come here, you lovely!" It was a little odd to kiss a woman that was so much older than I, and with my friends, family and dog all watching me, but it was worth seeing their faces when Her Majesty's secret service dragged me away with Bart and a broken lip.

The cold dungeon cellar was damp and uncomfortable, clearly not being used in quite a while. The lock, however, worked just well, as I had tried to pick it five different times to no avail. The sound of heels on stone drew my gaze up and forced a smile on my lips. I knew that gait well. It was a moment later that Addie appeared, holding a large medallion in a satin box with a large grin on her face. "They still gave it to you, you know."

"I also got a restraining order and a bruise, so what?"

She laughed and I felt secretly amused. "You're a horrible human being, Lock."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Is that all you have for me?"

She looked into the ties of her dress, and hidden in a bow that tucked into her side, she extracted a key. "I might have nicked this off the guard who locked you up."

If this isn't a reason to be horridly enamored and aroused by someone, I don't know what is. "Oh, you clever woman. I think I might just love you." She turned the key inside the lock, pressing closer to the bars and batting her eyes at me with a suggestive tone. I leaned forward and pecked her lips just as the gate swung inward, but was surprised the contact lasted only a moment and the sound of the gate closing assaulted my senses once more. "You _lied_ to me!"

"I said I stole the key, not that I'd get you out. I can't go home without Bart. You, however, are a big boy. I'll see you later, yeah. Be good."

It was well past nightfall when I managed to convince the guard that I was harmless, relatively speaking, and they let me go. I was exhausted, I was hungry and I felt like the guards had taken far too much pleasure in beating me off the Queen. The only thing that made my life bearable was the entity sitting on my armchair and staring at me with bright eyes. "Hello, Bartholomew. Well, it seems we're both sirs now, aren't we? Who's my good little boy?" The bloodhound wriggled as I rubbed his belly and licked at my fingers when I rubbed his snout. In all honesty, this dog was my reason for being happy most of the time. I could tell him off one minute and he'd be back to wagging his tail and loving me the next. He wasn't someone I had to hide from or avoid. He was there, wholeheartedly, no matter what I did or how stupid I was. "Where's your mum, boy?" The deeply intelligent beast glanced at the door of my room and I left him gnawing on a rawhide bone before setting off to my quarters.

The green dress she had worn was hanging from the closet, the shoes discarded not very far away, I glanced into the dark and saw Addie, in my bed, in what appeared to be one of my shirts, breathing evenly in the center of the bed. I smiled reflexively, taking a seat on the chair in the corner, discarding my shoes and entering the hidden rooms of my Palace. I went past my parent's libraries, saw John and Mary as they swayed in their wedding clothes in the ballroom, blatantly ignored Mycroft as he nagged me over some files I had not yet reviewed, and found Addie in the garden with Bart. She was still in my black button up shirt and some shorts I'm not sure where she got them, sitting on the soft green grass and letting a breeze blow back her natural waves. I memorized each detail of her silhouette in the bright contrast of day and couldn't help a grin when she turned towards me with one of her own.

"When did you get here?"

I frowned, she hadn't moved her lips, but I was certain it was her voice. It was then I realized the voice came from outside and my eyes snapped open to find a groggy Adelaide, sheets and hair tussled around her as she stared up at me with wide eyes. I lowered my steepled fingers from under my chin and sighed. "Just got in. Sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't. Bart was whining," she replied, and I couldn't help but commit that raspy, sleepy voice to memory.

"I'll check on him in a moment."

"He's OK, just complaining that he's outside. He'll settle down in a moment." Her eyes were closed once more and I could see her battling to stay awake.

"Alright, then." I stood from my chair, changed into some night clothes and slipped in beside her. She automatically clenched onto the front of my shirt as a lifeline and was back to sleep in a second. I was tired, but not so anxious to go to sleep. Nightmares kept me up more than I liked, but most nights I was doing a little better now. If I wrapped myself around Addie and rested assured that she was there and not locked up in Moriarty's cellar, I could sleep peacefully.

"When I was a child, Mycroft used to tell me he was going to convince my parents to leave me in the middle of a field where farmers would adopt me." I had taken to telling Addie small details of myself while she slept. She could recall the details, like in a faraway dream, and I didn't look like a tool saying them. It was a win-win situation. "One summer holiday, my dad taught us all to swim. Victor floated like a fish, Mycroft was terrible, but me, I sank like a stone in panic. I think that was the one moment he was truly afraid for me. He screamed and made a fuss, dragged me out to the shore. For all his logical thinking and comparing humans to goldfish, he's a bleeding heart where I'm concerned. I think he believes I'm not very tough, emotionally." Addie hummed as a reflex, turning around on her side with her back against me while still asleep. "I can sort of swim now, though. Do you swim? Why am I asking, you're asleep? Oh, well, good night."

Something, or someone, rather, was trying to untangle me from their body. I held fast, pulling them tighter, causing a fit of laughter to awaken my hearing. "_Lock_, Mrs. Hudson brought tea. I don't want it to get cold!" she whined between giggles.

"To hell with what you want. I want a warm woman, wearing my clothes to keep me company."

"I want _tea_!"

I managed to pry open my eyes. "I want you, tough luck." I winked at her and she blushed. "You're not going anywhere." I promptly buried my face in her hair, inhaling vanilla and lavender. She fussed for a second or two before acquiescing to my desire and pushed herself further into the burrow of sheets between us, a contented sigh escaping that I'm sure she had no idea had. Doors flew open inside my mind and a thousand sections of memories, like little pieces of film filled the halls of my Mental Palace: the fall, my years in hiding, my return, those all blurred together in a dark smudge. Others added to it: a verbally assaulting brunette and her dog, John and Mary's wedding, Delilah, colored spring snakes pressed into boxes, nights on the couch at 219, nights on the couch at 221B, a bloodhound bounding through the foyer, my parents, Magnussen's death, my exile, Moriarty. So many single frames clustered together into a single room of consciousness made me shiver and whimper. It took ages for my eyes to see the sad, green, doe-eyes staring up at me, begging me to speak but too afraid to ask anymore. My fingers danced over her cheek, forcing a smile on my face. "I'm _fine_."

She repeated my gesture, her fingers coming away wet with tears I wasn't aware I had shed. "No, you're not. It's astounding what you become when you think no one's looking, when your mind is left to wander free in that Palace of yours."

"I've never had a problem. Then again, I've never been practically sharing my room with someone in my adult life."

"Do you want me to go? Because I miss sleeping with Bart at home _alone_."

"Never." The sad thing was I meant it. "Tea, you said?"

Adelaide smiled, tugging at the front of my shirt and kissing me wholeheartedly. "It can wait."

* * *

"_Oi_, Scotty!" My eyes snapped open, Addie was standing over me with glare on her face and her mobile extended in offering. I stared distastefully at the device, but with a warning tone, gave in to her desires. It was my mother, _oh joy_... I walked, pacing the floor quietly, humming in agreement every now and then. I did a double take when I saw Mary in the kitchen with Addie and Delilah in a bassinet in a pen in the corner. I didn't even hear them come in, then again, I was pondering a four-patch problem with only one nicotine patch (Addie stole the rest and convinced everyone not to sell to me). I tossed the phone back to Addie after telling my mother an appropriate farewell and headed towards the blond.

"Hello, Sherlock!" Mary's cheerful mood made me smile, and I hugged her tightly, feeling like a baby chick with its mother hen. For an assassin, she was surprisingly motherly.

"Mrs. Watson. Where's your _good-for-nothing_ husband?" I asked with a grin, leaning forward onto the counter, watching her work.

"I _heard_ that, Sherlock." John said with a badly-hidden smile, putting down containers of take-away on the table and helping Mary set up. "I hope you're in an eating mood, Sherlock."

"I've been eating every day," my mind was distracted by the pie hidden in the bottom of the containers, missing the surprised look John was giving me until a few seconds later. I shrugged. "She makes me pancakes in the shape of bacteria and lets me have ice cream at breakfast, why not?"

"That's _all_ it takes, _really_?"

Mary patted her husband's arm in comfort. "Don't worry, John. I'm sure the fact that she's a pretty girl had something to do with it."

"And you're not that pretty of a girl!" The look John gave me could melt steel.

"John's a pretty girl," Addie defended, entering the kitchen. "Don't listen to them, Sunshine. You're bloody _gorgeous_."

"I'm not sure if I should agree with you for calling me gorgeous or complain that you called me a girl."

Addie smiled, a bright thing that gesture was. "He's just sore because his _boyfriend_ went off and married someone else." She winked in my direction, whatever amusement I was gaining from the banter immediately gone.

"I think that's why John all sulky about you, to be honest." Mary added, making Addie snort with amusement.

"Sherlock is _not_ my boyfriend!" John bellowed, a little too used to the automatic response to their insinuated relationship.

"Is there _any _particular reason that _no one_ wants to call me their boyfriend!?" I was a little offended at this. I'm a charming bloke... When I want to be. If it didn't interfere with whatever I was trying to... Ok, maybe I see why.

"Because saying Sherlock Holmes is your boyfriend is the equivalent of having a _Kick Me_ sign taped to your back?" Addie asked sarcastically, but kissing me on the cheek and ruffling my hair affectionately. Damn, I like it when she does that. I avoid the knowing look John is giving me and sit.

Addie sets a bottle of lager against the edge of the table and knocks the cap off, the little metal circle tinkling against the wood surface and slid it in my direction. Somewhere in the genetic makeup of my body and mentality this action registered as the most desirable trait any woman has ever had. She just opened a beer with a table and gave it to me. Of course, my thoughtful considerations were interrupted by the bottle sliding by and almost slipping off the table, had I not desperately grasped at it and set it back onto solid surface. Stupid Y chromosome and its distractions. I guess I can live with a lap sprinkled with lager for a little longer, I guess.

"Good catch." _Sarcasm_. I think it's her native tongue.

I stuffed a hunk of broccoli from the chicken on my plate to avoid the response from bubbling out of my throat. I realized I was hungry and dug into the plate with a vengeance, leaving Mary and John to look at each other before glancing at Adelaide who was taking a swig from her bottle of lager and staring questioningly back at them. It was a little funny, and I laughed quietly to myself while I stared at my adoptive family. I hate them so much I love them.

"Honestly, Sherlock, what's the point of having you around if you never listen?" John asked, stuffing the last of his fried rice into his mouth. I hummed in question. "Are you OK with what we discussed?"

I waved it off. "Yes, of course. _Sure_. Tomorrow, right."

Addie smiled, John tilting his head at her in disbelief and handing her a ten pound note. "Told you."

* * *

"Ugh, we're incredibly domestic." I barely registered Adelaide's complaint while I read the papers looking for a good case. She was lying down over my lap, her legs thrown over the armrest of my armchair while she read a science journal, highlighting certain passages.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm doing what I've always done as a bachelor. You can get off of me and rally the masses if that makes your lonely little house keeper life better."

"I actually _have_ a job, Scotty." She refuted. "And _you_ pulled me here."

"I'm a man; I like women on my lap. You're an independent woman, you should be able to know better by now." She punched my arm with impressive force, the journal put down. I laughed through my complaint, causing her to hit me again. "_Stop_ hitting me, devil woman!"

"Stop being an annoying git!" She doubled her efforts, journal now abandoned on the floor as she smacked every possible square inch she could get to while I laughed. I tossed my paper aside, taking captive both of her wrists in either of my hands. This, apparently, incurred the wrath of Addie and her loyal defender Sir Bartholomew. The hound howled and pranced on his hinds, before taking grip of my trousers and tugging on them playfully. In an impressive maneuver that involved her throwing her legs over her head and grabbing my neck, we ended up on the floor. And by that, I mean, I ended up face down, arms behind my back at odd angles while Adelaide sat comfortably on my back and threatened to hog-tie me. Honestly, for a girl so small, she really did hand my arse to me most of the time. "Pray for mercy!"

"_Never_!" I was still laughing, but I found it was because I couldn't stop.

"Surrender and I'll tell you where the nicotine patches are." _Oh, that crafty imp_. "I'm waiting!"

"Er..."

"Oh, Mr. Holmes! Don't make me up the ante." I was silent and she shifted so her lips could comfortably reach my left ear. "I know where John hid your cigarettes."

"I surrender! I surrender!" I thrashed with new motivation and flipped the tables on us, pinning her down below me. "Where are they?" Christmas came early.

She smiled, red-cheeked and panting under me while I impatiently waited. " I said I knew where they were, not that I'd tell you. Semantics, Scotty."

"Oh, what good are you, _Galatea_?" I pouted. Yes, pouted. I am a child in an adult man's body, deal with it.

"What good, indeed." She ruffled my hair and I pressed my forehead to hers, sighing deeply before rolling off and settling down beside her. The fingers of my right hand brushed the fingers on her left barely for a second before I removed it from my side and tucked it under my head. "Smooth." I could hear the laughter in her voice.

"Shut up!"

"No, I can see why you haven't dated in a while. London's not ready for your moves, yet."

"Addie..."

"_How do_ Molly and Donovan contain themselves?"

"You're a terrible person."

"You love it."

"I'm rather fond of it, yes." If you leave I might go back to hard drugs '_fond_'.

"Good. That's good." You don't sound very convinced, Adelaide. _Uh-oh_. Wait, she said something.

"Sorry?"

Addie sighed. "Nothing important." She sat up after a beat. "I'm tired."

I followed her quickly. "Ad, what? What's wrong?" She smiled, pecked me on the cheek and slid into bed. I scampered on, sitting on top of the covers and carding my fingers through her hair. "Addie, you know I'm rubbish at guessing why you're upset. Help? Please?"

She sighed, clearly running thin on patience. "My Dad will be in town next week, for a few days." _I'm sure I'm missing the point._ "It'd be nice if he met my friends." I got _nothing_. "_All_ of them."

I sputtered. "_Me_?"

"No, the other bloke I'm currently shacked up with." _Other_ bloke? I frowned, earning me a smack upside the head. "No shit, Sherlock. _Yes, you_!" Maybe I _am_ a moron.

"Adelaide, people. _Me_. It's not-"

"Please?" She widened her eyes and stared sadly at me. I groaned, finally knowing what she felt when I do the same thing to her. I glared at her, knowing there was no way I could talk myself out if that one. She smiled, victoriously and wrapped her arms around my neck in a hug. "Thank you! You're the best, Lock."

I awoke the next morning with a groan. My head ached and the remnants of an odd dream clung like jellyfish to my brain. The spot beside me was empty and cold. I glanced at the clock and saw it was barely morning. I dragged my sorry self to the kitchen to find John, Mary and Addie ready to go out and to work, respectively. Delilah was still in a onesie and stretched her arms towards me to pick her up. I complied, barely awake and begging for tea.

"Well, now that he's up, we can be off." John announced.

"Off where?" My voice was still raspy from sleep.

"Mary's and my day off. Thanks again for watching her."

Well, I was awake now. "_What!?_"

"Yesterday, _dinner_. The agreement. You watch Del today. I have it on my phone." Addie was far too happy. Suddenly, I remembered that ten pound note passing hands.

"I hate you!"

Adelaide grinned. "No, you don't."

"You _preyed_ on my weaknesses."

"Don't I always?" She kissed me, her lips still tasted of coffee and honey.

"Be good for Uncle Sherlock, Del," Mary cooed and followed her husband out the door.

I bounced the baby on my arm and she gave me a single-toothed smile that made me beam with pride. She was so easy-going. "So, dear Delilah. How about we look at some beheadings?" The tiny child grinned further. Yeah, we'll be _fine_.


	16. Women

[Author's Note: Hi! So, this came after re-watching Scandal in Belgravia and well, it just... happened. I think I was just feeling violent and needed a good fight scene. Anywhooo, thanks for reading and reviewing! I hope you all keep letting me know how I'm doing, and if you have any suggestions, let me know. I own nothing but OCs and a broken keyboard.]

_Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Bark. Bark. Bark. Whine. Scratch. Growl._

"Bart, please. It's 2 in the morning. Go to sleep," Addie hissed from under the covers, tangled between the sheets and Sherlock's long limbs.

_Growl. Growl. Growl._ Addie poked her head out from under the sheet, peeling off her bedmate's arm and staring at the bloodhound. He was growling insistently at the door, the hair on the nape of his neck and the ridge down his spine was upturned ferociously. This was not the sweet, clumsy hound that kept her company; it was the fierce and scary beast that swore to protect herm even in his youth. Adelaide got out of bed, pushing the arms of Sherlock's purple shirt over her wrists and pulling the fabric of the body down over her shorts. Quietly, as not to disturb the consulting detective, she padded across the room and opened the door just wide enough to slip through down the hall. Bartholomew padded slowly, still growling deeply and walked hunched, close to the floor and ready to pounce on whoever dare lay a hand on his best friend.

Adelaide stopped just short of the living room, blinking at both the sudden assault of light on her unaccustomed eyes and the figure so blatantly displayed on Sherlock's armchair, sitting as if she were waiting on someone with not a stitch if clothes on her. The scientist stared at the stranger who was still unaware of her presence and leaned against the wall before crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't remember ordering a kissogram. Or a precocious stripper." Heavily painted eyes turned towards her and ruby red lips smiled. Adelaide thought that the color looked toxic enough to kill on contact, so she better not be a kissogram.

"I'm waiting on Sherlock. He should be here shortly, so," she smirked, "_run along_."

Adelaide tilted her head and gave her a look that could peel paint. "Sherlock is asleep."

The naked woman observed her nails with interest she did not pay Addie. "Not for me he's not." Addie scoffed and had to move quickly to grab Bart by the collar as he barked and growled with ferocity, surely waking the whole block with the noise. With a few thuds and a dark oath, Sherlock stumbled out into the living room, rubbing his sleepy eyes as he walked. His hair was sticking out in all directions and he peeked at Bart shortly before following the beast's line of vision to his armchair. "I'm back. _Let's have dinner_," she cooed and Addie entertained the thought of letting Bart go.

Sherlock stared at this woman with hard eyes before he managed to formulate a sentence. "You should have called for me as soon as you got here," he instructed seriously.

The woman pouted. "I did. I just texted you."

"Not _you_," Sherlock spat back before tearing his eyes off of her. He looked at Addie with a less severe expression. "How long has she been here?"

"Bart's been growling for half an hour. Why is there a naked woman in your living room chair?"

"Because I'm due for a migraine, it seems." he muttered before turning to a slightly surprised woman. "Irene Adler, Adelaide Villalobos. Addie, The Woman," he made a show of the introduction and followed Addie to John's chair with his eyes. I've discovered my own personal brand of hell. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on the run."

"I got hungry," she coyly replied. Addie rolled her eyes and gave Sherlock a you've got to be kidding me look. "Could I bother your cousin for tea?" she asked, pointing at Addie with a red-tipped finger.

"_I will strike you where you stand_," Addie seethed, barely registering Sherlock's hands on her shoulders, keeping her glued to the seat.

"Don't bother. She knows you're not my cousin. This is her idea of _fun_. Call John and I'll see if it's necessary to phone Mycroft." He handed her his mobile and turned back to Adler. "I'm tired, I want to go to bed, I'm not interested in your games. _What_ do you want?"

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, are you cross with me?"

"You worked with the very man who set out to kill me and now that him or someone who follows him is back, you're magically back from your exile? Don't treat me a fool, Irene Adler, it makes you seem an idiot."

She stood from her seat, sashaying slowly towards him and setting a hand delicately on his chest. Sherlock took an immediate step back and let the hand fall. "When I said I wasn't interested in your games, I meant all of them."

"John will be here in a bit. Is it completely necessary I stay in the same room as this... _lovely lady."_ Addie managed to say through clenched teeth, a fire burning in her veins that damned the other female to the pits of hell.

"You can run along. I'll take such good care of him," Irene ran her fingers down his scalp and the side of his neck, making Sherlock grimace. Adelaide took possession of her wrist and bent it slightly, forcing her backwards until the other was on the seat of the sofa, staring at her with widened eyes.

"I was raised among older men, doll. I eat manipulating, sociopathic dominatrices for breakfast. Do deny me the pleasure of breaking your wrist." Addie let go of her wrist forcefully before turning to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea while she waited for John. There was nothing that made Adelaide more brutal than being cranky and underestimated, and this woman was poking both bears.

"Why are you always naked?" John asked, crossing the threshold and staring at where Addie and Irene were locked in a staring contest while Sherlock paced the room.

"Does it still make you feel _exposed_?" She asked, gaze unwavering from Addie. That was, of course, until Mary came down the stairs from putting Delilah in John's old room, placed a gun on the coffee table between the other two women and sitting on the armrest to Addie's left.

"He's my husband, and I'm not afraid to shoot your pretty face." She shed her own coat and tossed it towards the stranger. "Put that on, you look _ridiculous_."

"Why are you here? I thought you were dead!" John groaned, rubbing his eyes and trying to make sense of the situation.

"So was Sherlock. There's someone after me."

"Good. I hope they feed you to the pigs," Mary seethed, earning a chuckle from Addie.

Adler frowned, frustrated that her alone time with Sherlock had been nothing more than a fantasy. "I don't see why all of you are here. I wanted to talk to Sherlock. Alone."

"And have dinner, yes, John told me. Here's what's going to happen, princess. You're going to tell us what's going on, without your little mind games, Sherlock will solve it and you pray to God that we don't hand you off to Mycroft. M'kay?" Mary was terrifying when she was decided on something. She left no wiggle room to argue, and Adelaide, John and Sherlock were all sure that she would shoot the woman if she did not comply. Her mommy hormones were all over the place.

"I may have angered some members if the American Secret Service and betrayed a few secrets. They have sent their sniffer dogs after me." Irene played with the coat Mary handed her but did not put it on.

"And that concerns Sherlock how?"

"I'll be dead in a month if he doesn't figure out who wants me dead and hides me!"

"You manipulated Sherlock into deciphering state secrets, betrayed him and he still saved you from being beheaded. I can safely say he's in no way in your debt." John argued, taking all matters into account.

"He told his brother about saving me!" she shrieked, a little louder than she intended.

"It's your own bloody fault!"

"Sherlock, just give me five minutes alone."

Sherlock thought for a moment, still pacing back and forth before nodding. John and Mary left for the kitchen, followed by Addie. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her back towards him. "Stay with me," he said softly, and she replied with a nod. The Woman did not complain. John was manipulable, Mary was scary, but Addie was just extra furniture to her and would not affect the grand scheme of things. Especially since she chose to sit out of the line of sight on the floor.

"I thought I asked for tea earlier," she said, smooth air in her voice.

"This isn't a social visit or friends catching up. Make your case."

"You're still cross with me. Good. It means I'm in your memories."

Sherlock's eyes grew cold. "You're in a dungeon with all the other criminals, Irene. Don't flatter yourself. It's unseemly."

Adler grinned and it made Adelaide's skin crawl. "I'm sure you find nothing unseemly in me, Mr. Holmes."

"Other than your personality? There's eight things." He smirked, challenging her with fiery eyes. He stared her up and down. "Make it _nine_." She stared at him questioningly. "An American's diet doesn't suit you. You've gained weight."

Addie coughed awkwardly, trying to cover the little burst of laughter. Sherlock wasn't one to focus on physical attributes that closely, but damn did he know how to push buttons. "I think you're mistaken," she said drily.

"Oh, I'm really not. Would you like to know your new measurements?" His smile fell and he took a breath. "Want to know what else? You're lying. You didn't betray any secrets, you are the secret. You're pregnant and they're hunting you to keep it under wraps, so you fled to London and went to the one person who would help you even if you didn't deserve it. You were counting on me saving you, having dinner, rescuing your pathetic little life from the ashes. I'm. Not. Interested."

"_When did he grow a pair_?" "_When did he become the human pregnancy test_?" John and Mary asked, respectively, from the kitchen.

"Sherlock—"

"I'll find them, but you can clean up your own mess." Sherlock had stood up from his chair.

She smiled, clapping happily. "Let's go to bed, then." She stood as well, taking his arm in a suggestive manner.

"Yes, _lets_." He stood at the opening of the hall and pushed her towards his bedroom before doubling back and holding his hand out for Adelaide. "You two are upstairs, yeah?" The married couple nodded, entering the living room with wide grins. "Good. You know where we'll be." Without so much as a backward glance, he closed the door behind Addie and himself, letting Addie look somewhat amazed at their intertwined fingers as they crossed to 219.

* * *

"I will _murder_ you in that t-shirt!" Adelaide screeched, glaring daggers at Irene who was currently sitting in a pair of Addie's shorts and her favorite shirt.

The dominatrix flicked through the pages of one of Addie's science journals, a clear look of disinterest locked onto her features. "I do hope it's death by stabbing because this shirt needs to die." John grabbed Addie just as she swung a frying pan at the dominatrix's head from behind. "Thank you, Dr. Watson." She still failed to look up. John had to pin Addie down in the spare armchair until she settled down. This had been the third attempt to murder their client in the last three hours. The doctor had a good mind to let the next one just happen.

"Sherlock, are you anywhere near finished?" John pinched the bridge of his nose, jealous of his wife who got to listen to their screaming child fight off colic while he constantly pulled the scientist and the sex worker off each other every ten minutes while Sherlock pondered with several nicotine patches adhered to his skin. "_Sherlock_!" The detective hummed in recognition of being addressed. "Any ideas?"

"Five, actually."

"Any of them particular to this case?"

"Just one."

"Care to share?"

"I need to talk to someone." Sherlock stood up, grabbed his coat and left the flat without another word.

"See, you made him leave! Maybe it's your outfit choices, maybe it's your attitude or maybe it's the fact you can't tie a square knot and keep him here," Irene said, tossing the journal aside and staring at Addie with a wicked smile. "Just a little girl playing house with her friend and what's worse is he's going along with the game. It's just a game, though, and he'll get bored and he'll run off to play with the big kids and you'll be back to your tea set."

Addie leaned forward in her chair, smirking with a level of evil that was unknown in her. She rested her weight on her elbows, her hair covering partial portions of her face and giving her a sinister amount of shadows. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm not the type to run around in a dress and heels and bat my eyelashes at a man, but I'm not boring. Because when I was a kid, I didn't plan my wedding, I didn't have tea parties with stuffed animals, and I didn't dress up. I didn't have to have choose a risqué profession that would only be useful in my youth and scamper to my safety blanket when I felt my lifestyle and source of power slipping. I rolled in the dirt, ran in the rain and played war. And there's nothing Sherlock Holmes likes more than a battle," she finished in a whisper.

There was a second of silence before the deafening screams of Irene Adler echoed through the flat as she lunged for the woman opposite her. She pulled at her hair and dragged her off of the chair and onto the floor. Addie laughed, the sound turning into a feral growl while she twisted out of the other's grasp. There was a sound of blows and dark oaths and John stared at the tussle as if he had no idea what to do. With a whipping sound, Adler pulled Addie's belt off and was trying to whipe the other into submission, and when this did not work, she tied the belt to her throat and tighten. Addie, taking a much more indelicate route, reared back her hand and punched her the hardest she could, stunning her rival long enough to pull the belt loose, elbow her when she lunged once more and pushing her back as hard as she could.

The Woman fell backwards into the coffee table, knocking the tea set that had been abandoned earlier that day and daring not move another inch. Addie stood tall, tossing the belt aside with a flourish, scratch marks all over her face while she looked down at her adversary. Irene was bleeding heavily from her nose, lip and cheek, having received forceful blows to all three areas, and shivered in fear with every step the other female took.

"_Know when you are beaten_," she repeated the other woman's tagline with venom in her voice and watched her squirm on the floor.

"Did I miss something?" Sherlock asked, having been halfway through taking off his scarf, but too stunned at his view of the room to continue.

"She _attacked_ me, Sherlock!" Irene cried, large tears streaming down her cheeks, staining her face with makeup. "A woman with _child_!"

"Yes, that would be terrible," he gave Addie's back a frown and kneeling down next to her with a sympathetic smile. "If it were true."

Adler huffed, tears finally subsiding and an impatient noise left her. "That's why you ran. I got it wrong. You told him you were pregnant so you took a hefty cocktail of hormones to trick the tests. He wants the child, but it's fictional. So, you ran off with his money and he realized he was taken a fool and now wants revenge." He stood from his spot with a deep scowl on his face. "Wire the money back and it's taken care of."

"Why would I do that? It's rightfully mine. I earned it."

"_Because I'm telling you to_!" He bellowed.

"You have the roles reversed, love. I make the orders, you follow them." She was beginning to sit up in her spot, her eyes defiant.

"Addie, you can hit her again," he said simply, but caught his neighbor right before she was in immediate hitting range. "Jesus, I was kidding, Adelaide." He smirked a little before brushing her hair back away from her face and bringing her to relative normality; he pulled her into his body and kissed her temple before signaling John to come collect her. "You have two hours to wire the money back or I'm calling Mycroft. You can use my laptop."

"What will you do in the meantime?"

"Take care of my girlfriend. You seem to have tried to asphyxiate her." He trudged softly to the kitchen where John was fussing over a very cranky Addie with some anesthetic and antibiotic cream. The two looked up at Sherlock and the doctor stepped away when the former gestured to the living room, muttering something about fixing up the nutter and taking a few bandages and pomades with him. "Bruised knuckles, bruised face, a chip on your shoulder: you have all the makings of a prize fighter." He smiled, taking the cotton swab John was trying to dab her with and gave her a look when she flinched away. "Don't be a child. That's my job." He wiped at the scratches on her face and rubbed her raw knuckles with antiseptic while she mumbled under her breath, probably about just how much she wanted to hurt someone right about now. With deft fingers, he wrapped a bit of bandage over her left hand and watched her sulk. "Is this how it is with me? I fight and complain and then grumble in a corner for a while until I get tired and want a hug?"

"Who says I want a bloody hug?" she growled, crossing her arms stubbornly and staring at the wood of the table as if it had done her some great offense.

"Isn't that what they always want? Those dirt-sodden little soldiers home from playing war?"

"Oh, you _bastard_! You were on the stairs, weren't you?" She asked, pushing his laughing figure away. "I hate you! Is that what this has been about? You lusting over a catfight?"

"It's a terribly attractive reason, no?" He rolled his eyes. "I was just coming in as you made your final point. It took a few minutes while the shock died down a little and I could step in."

"I hate you."

"You say that an awful lot, but you still stick around. Masochist?" He tilted his head with curiosity.

"No, a little more like empathic Stockholm Syndrome. I got it from Bart."

"Don't drag my little ray of sunshine into this!" Addie kicked his shin while his expression remained offended.

"I hate you!"

"You're repeating yourself. Furthermore, if you hate me, it's not Stockholm's."

"Smart ass," she continued to stare at the table. "I still hate you."

He invaded her line of vision only to peck her on the lips. "I can live with that."

"Where the bloody hell is my hug?" She asked exasperatedly. Sherlock laughed, a deep rumbling sound, and pulled Addie onto his lap and squeezed her tightly, causing her to squeal before breaking into laughter. He slackened his grip, allowing Addie to pull back and he pushed the mess of her hair behind her shoulders. He ran his fingers down the angry red line the belt left on her neck, sighing at the sight of a particularly angry welt where the buckle had ripped the skin. "Next time feel free to intervene when your girlfriend's being choked. Just a thought."

Sherlock cringed jokingly. "Ooh, _girlfriend_. I don't think we'd use that term, would we?"

"This is why I hate you!"

"Oh, come on. You're just upset that out of the two of us I'm the only who's emotionally stable enough to admit this is a relationship. _Me_. _Emotionally stable_. Think about it."

"Please restrain yourself from displays of affection, brother dear." Mycroft played with the umbrella in his hand. "Addie, excellent punch."

"Don't encourage her," Sherlock scolded.

"Thank you, Myc." The elder Holmes rolled his eyes at the nickname, but did not complain.

"Miss Adler is in my care. She, as you said, refused the reimbursement. She bit John when I arrived. It was smart to call me."

"She has my favorite shirt!" Addie gasped, completely missing the point of the exchange. "That bitch. I knew she was evil."

"Big picture, Adelaide," Mycroft whined.

"But _Myc_—" she pouted. He stared blankly in return. "Oh, fine! I still want to strangle her."

"I'm sure she wishes the same thing, Addie." Sherlock laughed and she smacked his arm. "Thank you, Mycroft. Pleasure doing business with you."

"And you, brother dear. Adelaide. Good evening."

They watched Mycroft retreat and listened to the muffled struggles of the woman in question through the kitchen window before Addie questioned. "You tricked her?"

"She was never going to comply. I did what I thought best."

"You seemed _accepting_ of her."

"Is this your way of asking whether or not I wanted her?" He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Yes, now answer the question."

Sherlock smiled. "Are you jealous? Like, _properly_ jealous?"

"_No!_" She replied far too quickly.

"Oh, you _are_! That's _precious_!"

"I hate you," she reiterated.

He smoothed her hair back and pulled her into him gently for a kiss. "Let's have dinner," he whispered, winking at her suggestively. They both laughed. "No, really, let's have dinner, I'm starving."


	17. Progeny

[Author's Note: I'm sooooo sorry! I haven't been updating much because I am moving into a whole new zip code and have been super busy, but I threw together a little chapter full of the mixed emotions we all know and love hoping you will forgive me! Read and review (you know I can't resist your comments) and let me know what you think. If there are any typos, I apologize, I really did type in a hurry. I own nothing but the OC's and three suitcases full of stuff.]

"You look_ fine_."

"I look a mess! Maybe I should change my shirt again."

"For the love of God, you look just fine! Can we go any time soon?"

"I want to look nice and having you yammering about behind me isn't helping, so shut it!"

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes if you do not get out of that closet right now so we can leave, I am going to cut your nicotine supply within a five mile radius!" Addie roared, smoothing down her the blouse on her casual jeans and shirt ensemble and giving Sherlock a dark look. He had his purple shirt in one hand a navy blue on in the other and a black shirt was unbuttoned but still draped over his frame. This was the twelfth time he had cycled through the clothes in his closet, and Adelaide had half a mind to just leave him and go to dinner with her father on her own.

"But, Addie—"

"Wear the blue shirt, keep the grey slacks and put your bloody coat on like I told you an hour ago!"

Sherlock, with wide and frightened eyes, changed quickly while Adelaide sat on her sofa with a scowl on her face. She didn't even acknowledge the soft laughter coming from John and Mary as she stared straight into the wall in front of her. It was a minute later that the consulting detective emerged, and without saying another word, the quartet climbed into a cab and disappeared into the London night. They were running late all because Mr. Holmes had decided to have the jitters and question every decision he made in regards to himself. John had tried to talk him into just staying as he was, reminding the taller man that they were going for dinner at a casual joint and none of them were dressed up to any degree. Sherlock, on the other hand, felt like he had to be the prettiest girl at the prom, so to speak, and had slaved in front of the mirror for ages while Mary combined bottoms and tops for him to try on. It sometimes surprised John how well Sherlock and his wife got along. Only she had the patience to deal with his best friend even when he was being an insufferable idiot. Addie was more like him, she would get impatient and smack him and remind him that it was just dinner. John smirked at the thought of his mate's nerves, though. He was flat out terrified to meet his girlfriend's dad.

"I was trying to add a splash of color," Sherlock defended slowly, trying his best to make his tone as least irritating as humanly possible. He held the door to the restaurant open for them to pass before him.

"I could punch you in the face again, if you want," John quipped, remembering the case with the Woman, where Sherlock had said the same thing.

"You'll have to beat me to it," Addie murmured, but a smirk was present on her features. "You look fine, Lock. I hardly think my Dad will remember what you were wearing tonight after he goes back to his hotel, anyway." Adelaide smiled, approaching a man who was clearly in his fifties, hair dusted with gray, but with a decidedly strong aura to him. He stood tall, dwarfing his daughter as he hugged her decked out in his dark pants and jumped rolled to his elbows, small scars and remnants of his past labors exposed to the ever-curious eyes of the detective. "So, you charming beast, these are my friends. That's John and his wife Mary," she began to introduce, pointing to the doctor and his wife. "Little Del is with a sitter, but I'm sure you'll be showered with pictures in a few. Now, the one that looks like he really doesn't want to be here because he's going to be sick, is Sherlock."

"Pleasure to meet you lot," A honeyed baritone with an odd accent left the man. His warm, friendly smile, however, did little to relieve the tension in the room. "Andrés Villalobos; Andy, to you. You call me Mister anything, and I will hurt you."

"Yep, you're definitely Addie's dad," Mary announced with a grin, taking her seat across from the man.

"You do manual labor! Most likely wood work, judging by the scrapes on your arms, consistent with the bits of wood flying off blocks and saws bouncing off harder materials. You do your work outdoors, but you don't like facing the sun, the way your tan marks slant slightly tell me you do an awful lot of that work hunched. You're used to wrangling around younger people because of your kids, but are not afraid to challenge any of them at a feat of strength, seeing as you've kept yourself fit. You're a worrier, but you hide it well, most likely because you had to hide it from your children while you raised them alone. I honestly can't shut up. John—" The doctor nudged him in the ribs hard enough for him to lose his breath and fall silently. Money started changing hands as Addie grinned wickedly, collecting a hefty sum from his best mate.

"Do you always bet against me?"

"We've been over this. You know the answer."

Adelaide's father interrupted. "I've heard a lot about you, Sherlock. Addie. As I understand, you are a consulting detective?"

"Yes, the only one in the world. I invented the profession," he responded rather proudly, earning him a dirty look from Addie. "So, when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they call me. Honestly, it's a miracle there isn't more crime in the world, policemen are always so—"

"I'm a policeman."

"—good and honest and they do the best they can, really. They deserve a medal," he finished, rectifying the whole road on which his argument was cruising down. "Police man? Really? Addie never said _anything_ about that." His teeth were clenched so tightly, it was a miracle any sound could leak through them.

"She wouldn't. Adelaide has a love for chaos. Ever since she was little, she sort of liked watching conflict unfold. Analytical, you know," he remarked, tapping his temple to emphasize his point. "Physics, chemistry, math, logistics, that's what she liked. I tried to get her into ballet once; she was thrown out of the group."

The consulting detective's left eyebrow quirked. "But, she's a spectacular dancer."

"That came later. She took a few private lessons and caught up all on her own. She just didn't like the '_brainwashing dynamics of the dance studio_' as she called it." Andy put in his order with the waitress before continuing. "Not that I minded, you see. By the time she was sixteen she could pull apart a motor and put it back together, fixed the fridge, helped repair the sirens of the squad cars in whatever precinct I was in at the moment. Of course, that just drew boys in more."

"I bet. That's like saying she was the perfect woman," Mary interjected, sipping at her wine and leaning in on her elbows to listen to the stories.

"I'm thinking about upgrading," John joked, before kissing Mary's temple.

"It was a nightmare, but Addie didn't really like the popular kids. She liked the weird ones that hung awkwardly in the background and had huge character flaws. "

"So far, so good, and accurate," John interrupted, glancing at Sherlock who kicked him under the table.

Andy continued. "She'd go on about how it was a minor thing and that she could '_fix it_' and when she molded them into the perfect version of themselves, she cut them lose. It's a shame; they were all sweet, quiet boys."

"And _there's_ the rub." Mary quipped.

"I'm hoping that running your mouth is the only reason that Addie has taken a liking to you."

Sherlock choked on his water, coughing in distress for a few seconds, eyes watering from the sudden lack of oxygen. "No, no, Addie and I—"

"The police may be imbeciles here, Sherlock, but I actually know how to put two and two together, my boy."

"I—er. I think… Addie. The things is…"

"He's grumpy, plays violin at all hours, kidnaps her dog, snaps at every little thing when he's annoyed, barely sleeps, although he has gotten better at that. He's a know-it-all, he grates on your nerves, he jokes about things he should never joke about, he's a sociopath, and he abhors the range of human emotion," John counted on his fingers while his face scrunched in thought, earning a round of laughter from everyone but the intended target.

"But, he doesn't collect Troll dolls or anything like that, right?" Andy asked.

"Oh, oh! Does experiments on human parts on the kitchen table!" John added victoriously. "I knew I was forgetting one!"

The father shrugged. "As long as he's not attracted to stuffed animals or something."

* * *

Addie laughed at the sullen expression plastered on Sherlock's face, simultaneously poking him in the ribs to try to get a rise out of him. "Oh, come on. It was fine!"

"I started talking about the difference between the cotton in the Americas and Egyptian cotton. Are you kidding me?" He buried his face into the fabric of his sofa, growling in frustration that his night had been far less than perfect. The meeting had gone fine and everyone seemed to be having a good time, but Sherlock seemed to have a problem with delving into himself and procuring the same level of sanity he possessed when it was just him and his friends in front of Addie's father. The older gentleman, on the other hand, found this sort of endearing and had been doling out a constant stream of positive reinforcements when the self-proclaimed sociopath said something of relative normality.

"Dad loved you, honestly. In fact, he wants to meet you in that fish and chip shop you like so much for lunch tomorrow. You can take Bart, if you like. He'll be your security blanket."

"Can't I take_ you_?" He lifted his head just enough so that the words weren't muffled.

"No, he wants to talk to you. Reassure you, I think. He's a brilliant man who knows you're socially anxious and can really put your foot in your mouth." Kneeling down next to him on the sofa, she carded her fingers through his hair and down his back in a soothing manner.

The man lifted his head from the cushion and looked at her through his messy fringe with big, blue eyes. "Did _you_ think I was OK?"

Addie listened for an imaginary sound in the air. "Oh, Lord, I've left the kettle on. I should go get that!" Just as she stood up, Sherlock pulled her forcefully onto the sofa, poking her sides while she thrashed with laughter.

"You are the absolute _worst_!" He said, settling down in his laughter and sitting back on the sofa, his right arm draped over her shoulders.

"Don't you forget it, Lock." She pecked his cheek and yawned. "Don't stay up too late." Ruffling his hair, she disappeared into the bedroom.

* * *

Sherlock awoke with a start, still on the sofa where he had been thinking into the early hours of the morning. The smell of tea tickled his nose and he could hear Addie mucking around in the kitchen. Rubbing his eyes, he peeked over to see her dressed for work and packing her lunch into her bag, leaving a plate of toast with jam and a cup of tea next to it on the table for him to have for breakfast.

"I left you something to eat. Don't forget to meet my Dad at the shop for lunch. I plugged it into your phone, just in case." She said, not even turning to see if he was awake or not, Addie could feel him watching her.

"I fell asleep on the couch."

"I know. I sent Bart out at around two in the morning to keep you company. He was whining something fierce."

"Good little Barty boy," he cooed, patting the bloodhound's head as he walked past him, into the kitchen. He gulped greedily at his tea and sighed. "Thank you. Greg called you and he wants to see you at NSY after lunch, something about paperwork, and John phoned said he's be here—"

"Now" John announced, entering the kitchen and stealing Sherlock's remaining tea. "Morning, lot. Go get showered and dressed, we have a case." He said to Sherlock who excitedly left the kitchen. "I'll have him at the chip shop at one. Go to work. Have a good one." Addie kissed John on the cheek and bid her dog and companion goodbye before exiting 221B. Sherlock emerged from the shower just a moment later, dressed and hair wet from his bath, and excited at the prospect of a new case. "So, John, what do you have for me today?"

"That would be me," Andy came out of the hallway led from the staircase and into the living room of 221B.

Sherlock seemed confused and a little hesitant. "I don't understand."

"I talked to John last night after dinner. I have a case and I would hope that you could help."

* * *

Adelaide sat, run ragged from the day at work and petting a very happy Bartholomew who seemed to want nothing more than sit in her lap like a much smaller pup. The irritating trill of her mobile interrupted her ministrations. Bart wriggled over her, complaining loudly about the fact that his friend had been distracted from giving him attention. "Hey, John. Whaddaya need?"

John hesitated on the other side of the line, groaning to himself and deciding whether or not he should ask. "Is Sherlock there?"

Addie perked up, suddenly very aware of the hair on the back of her neck that seemed to want to stand on end. The name _Moriarty_ circled through her head and she took a deep breath to calm the ridiculous notions from her head. "I thought he was with you. Should I be worried?"

"No, of course not! You know Sherlock; he gets away from me without saying where he's going. I lost him after dinner when he was mumbling something about a new case and you know—" he trailed off into silence.

Addie sighed, picking up on the doctor's blatant lie, but taking his word, nonetheless. It wouldn't do any good to think about what messes Sherlock got himself into when she wasn't around. "John—"

"He's fine. He'll be there soon, alright? Just do me a favor: wind down, have some tea, go to sleep. You got that?"

"Yeah, I'll do that, John." With another sigh, she listened as the line disconnected and stared down at Bart. The bloodhound licked at her face and wagged his tail happily, enjoying the fact that he had not been shunned from her lap yet form being far too big to fit in it anymore. "Well, Barty boy, how about we go out for a walk and then to bed?" The beast barked in assent and in a flash, they were out of the door of 219.

* * *

The club was smoky, loud and packed with far too many people. The heavy bass notes threatened to split his head clean in two and he tried to remedy the ache by gulping greedily at the half-finished pint of beer in his hand. Sherlock smirked, a group of women was making their way onto the dance floor and keeping away from any male occupants that tried to engage them in a dance. His eyes fell onto a bright blond. Her skin was tanned and well cared for and the blue dress she was wearing defied every law of the physical world in the way it clung to her. There were two other women accompanying her, marginally younger than her, but not as solicited as she was, if the absurd amount of males traipsing towards her were any indication. She was a woman clinging to the wisps of her youth, and doing a very good job of it. Obtaining a little more courage from the last dregs of his beer, Sherlock walked, head held high and into the fray of dancing bodies. With utmost confidence, he took the blond woman's hand and tugged her towards him to the beat of the music.

"I'm not supposed to be dancing with you. I'm on a girl's night," she purred into his ear, her arm wrapping around his neck.

"What is a girl's night out but an excuse to use when you go back home alone after striking out all night?"

"Oh, is it? Tell me, what brings _you_ here tonight?"

"Stag night," he replied with a wide smile, eliciting a giggle from the woman's lips that was drowned in the music. "Well, that's the excuse if I go home alone, anyway."

The woman pulled in closer to him, and Sherlock took hold of her waist to hold her flush to him. "And you think that I'm your ticket out of that excuse? How would you manage that?"

He brushed his lips against her ear and laughed. "Easy. Your friends have already given up and my flat is three minutes from here."

The pair scrambled up the stairs of 221B in a bout of laughter. He let them inside of the flat and gestured for her to take a seat on one of the available seats of the living room. "I'm sorry about the mess, but, life of a bachelor, you know—"

"Oh, I'm not here to rate the cleanliness of your abode, Mr. Watson," she purred delicately, accepting a tumbler that Sherlock had filled with an amber liquid from a decanter.

"If you insist on calling me Mr. Watson, I will be very cross. Scott, please." Sherlock drank from his own glass, mentally apologizing to John for stealing his last name. He had been in a bind and the words had just tumbled out of his lips.

The blond stared at him with eyes as dark as sin, fluttering her eyelashes in the most inviting of ways and patted the seat beside her. Sherlock could not but oblige. The second he had sat, her body turned towards him, her right side resting against the back of the sofa, one hand on her drink, the other trailing a path down his neck. With a curious expression, she stared at the small amount of knickknacks around the flat, Sherlock secretly grateful that Addie had taken the time to straighten up because she was going insane with all the clutter. Her eyes finally stopped at the web of pictures, paper and thread on the wall behind them. "Curious little thing. What is it?"

"Those are my rats. I watch them scuttle and run, but I have yet to find their nest." Sherlock said simply, a proud smirk itching its way up to his lips. "They're for work."

"What is it that you do, Scott?"

He laughed, running his hands through his hair and rubbing his neck awkwardly, trying to cherry-pick his words. "I am an _observe and report_ sort of fellow. I can see little details in people that most everyone overlooks and I pass that information to others who seem to want that information, for whatever purpose."

She grinned, leaning forward towards him until he could feel her whisky-tinted breath on his cheek. "So, what can you tell about me?" She brushed her lips against his cheek, but Sherlock remained calm and still, challenging her silently with his eyes.

"Your accent tells me you're well traveled. You're originally English, but you have picked up certain mannerisms of speech from other countries as you traveled the world. Most recent location was Portugal, judging from the ticket stub in your coat pocket. You've been there a while, if the tan is any indication, but you make it a point to travel back and forth to England as much as possible. Your friends tonight were barely legal, so you have probably been away for three or four years and met them the last time you came but you kept in touch."

"Remarkable, you're impressive, I must say."

He laughed. "That's just what I got from glancing at you in the club. Talking to you, I know far more than that. Would you like me to tell you?" She nodded in accord and licked a short trail up his neck, causing him to stiffen and gulp thickly. "You take care of yourself, because therein lies your wealth. Although, you do a lot to hide it and not seem it, you are most likely fifty one, fifty two at most. You like the thrill of the chase, you like the process of acquisition and of completely owning someone. It doesn't last long, though. I'm sure the kids disrupt your schedule."

"Kids? I don't have children, Scott," she said with a small waver in her voice, but not falling back from her physical routine. She grazed her teeth on his neck and this time it took Sherlock more than a deep breath not to catapult out of the chair from the discomfort. He shivered slightly and laughed a dark rumbling laugh.

"Oh, I know you don't have children. You don't really go for that sort of thing. You hold other things dear to your heart."

"And what do _you_ hold dear to your heart?"

The man irked an eyebrow and smiled. "Me? I'm rather plain, I hate to admit. What I hold dear lies within my phone." He scrambled in his pocket for his mobile, flipping quickly to his pictures and pulling out a portrait taken at Mary's birthday. All three Watsons, Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Addie and Bart smiled up at Sherlock who had snapped the picture while they were having dinner. He could feel the hand that had fallen to his forearm tighten slightly at the portrait. "These eight beings are what I have in my life. A support system, of sorts. My best friend, his wife and child," he pointed out in the picture at John, Mary and Delilah. "They are the people who most comfortably deal with my sociopathy, they share it. They like the danger of the world. Anywhere I go, they are right behind me. And those two," he pointed at Lestrade and Molly, "they make my job so much easier. They give me the freedom to do what I do. They keep me out of trouble and they yell at me when they need to. Very grounding people. Now, the elder lady, she's my landlady. Although, I wouldn't think it was out of line to call her a mother figure. She coddles me in the most strange of ways." He smiled at the definite nervous expression on the woman's face as her dark eyes flickered at Sherlock.

"The others?"

He let a chuckle escape him and his finger grazed the screen to flip to the next photo. It was a candid shot of Addie and Bart. They were both asleep in his bed. Addie's hair was strewn everywhere and she held the bloodhound tightly as if he were her lifeline while the crisp white sheets of his bed formed a tangled cocoon around their bodies as they greedily took up all the surface area of his sleeping furniture. "Well, that would be my dog – I say my dog, but he's not really mine, though I would never admit it to her—and his owner. They are the most humbling beings I know. Not only am I constantly looking like an idiot in front of her – she's too smart for her own good—but that dog has made me reevaluate any theories I may have had about the sentience of non-human organisms. I mean, she's a funny and sweet and smart woman whose only shortcomings include her ridiculously short temper and the fact that she insists on being fond of me. I mean, she hates people, as do I, but like that bloodhound, she's prepared to snarl at anyone who gets in the way of anyone she holds dear. Even if she doesn't know them yet. Even if it's from her own—"

"Mother?" Adelaide's voice broke Sherlock's closing argument as she emerged from the hall leading from the bedroom. The way her flannel pajama bottoms dragged on the floor was a hilarious test that the pants were not, in fact, hers; and combined with the fisted hands that rubbed at her eyes and messy hair, she looked comically young. "Sherlock?" Her expression was confused, but still sleepy. The consulting detective slipped out of the other woman's range and stood by Adelaide, trying to gauge her reaction and attempting not to make her mad. He turned to the other woman and clasped her arms behind his back.

"Your mistake was returning to Portugal. You weren't aware he had transferred back to one of his old Precincts. You thought he wouldn't go somewhere twice, because you never went anywhere twice. Although thirteen years was a wide gap to give yourself."

"Lock, what are you talking abou—Portugal—what did you do?" Adelaide asked with venom pouring out of her words as she faced her mother. The woman seemed nonplussed at this action and downed the rest of her drink.

"I had nothing left there. I left my husband and child and went on with my life. It's not my fault he dropped dead a day later."

"Six," Addie whispered under her breath, her green eyes flickering with fire and contempt. "You left a child alone again. That's the third time after us and I'm getting very tired of running after you to fix your messes. Why some higher power hasn't dried you out already is a mystery to me!"

The older woman waved in dismissal. "Oh, please. Spare me the dramatics. You won't have to worry about any of that now, will you? I had to have everything taken out last year. Complications, you see."

Addie sat on the coffee table and sat her weight on her elbows as she leaned forward. "After Australia, after I fixed everything, you told me you were done. You swore to me that this was the last and I was not going to have to turn you in myself." The woman had no response and Addie began a barrage upon her in Papiamento, of which Sherlock understood not a word.

Her mother interrupted in a yell. "I. Got. Bored." Sherlock had to react quicker than he ever thought possible to drag Addie back towards him and keep her from bludgeoning her own mother. "I broke my own record. Married within six months, in his will within another four and pregnant right after. She's a brat of a little girl, but her father's account was very pretty. When I acquired it, I moved on. I have no interest in little girls who play war. Not then, not now. They're not moldable."

"Yeah, well, we rather like the girls who can get dirty, Adrienne" John remarked as he entered the living room, accompanied by Adelaide's father whose self-satisfied smirk made up for years of suffering and self-blame. Members of Scotland Yard and the Portuguese police department were explaining her rights in both languages, as she decided to shower them with insults in the six languages she knew as she was dragged away. "Why is it we attract the weird people?" He asked, looking at Sherlock.

Addie grinned, "I don't see what you mean, Johnny."

"Your Dad is a policeman, your Mom is a con woman, you make barely veiled threats against our health on the daily, my wife is an assassin and the landlady ran a drug cartel. Do you need any more explanation?"

"Oh, please. He solves crimes, you blog about it and my dog has some very adult feelings for him. There is no way we _weren't_ going to meet." She sighed. "So, I assumed you didn't go for fish and chips."

Sherlock, who had been silent, stared at the floor. "No, no, we did. We just did other stuff, too. We hadn't really planned it, but the opportunity arose and—"

"You could not resist seeing the root of my insanity."

"Kinda, sorta, yeah." He had the decency to look sheepish before smiling wide.

"Did you really run around after her getting all the kids sorted?" John asked, a bit surprised, considering Adelaide's general opinion of children.

"Well, wouldn't you if your mother was a raging psychopath who wed and then abandoned whole families. I got the good one. Dad is excellent. The others, they needed a little bit of a budge. It was the least I could do."

"How did you even know?" The taller of the two men asked.

"She would call. Say she wanted a girl's night. I would accept and call the police. She moved faster than you'd think. She liked showing off."

"Oi, careful with the _showing off_ thing." Sherlock said with mock offense, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Do you have six kids stranded around the world?"

"Not that I know of, no. But I may have a string of enamored war doctors and bloodhounds in a few dozen countries."

Addie laughed loudly at the dirty look John gave him, and in turn responded. "You told me I was your one and only, you bastard!"

"John, come on, be serious." He gestured at himself with a haughty look. "Who can resist all of this?"

Addie scrunched her nose. "I can. You smell like my mother. I sort of want to throw up on you." She covered a heave. "Oh, take a shower."

"I just solved a case that would essentially ground you to Baker Street forever and you're asking me to go shower?"

Addie rolled her eyes, looking bored. "Sherlock, if I wanted to leave Baker Street, I would have accepted any of the dozen offers of employment I have gotten. If I am here, it is not because of your charm." John laughed. "Do you want some tea, John?" Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock to argue with himself.

* * *

Book in hand and dog laid across his lap, Sherlock sat in the living room of 221B while he pretended to learn something about solar system. He had been dead silent and pouting since he came out of his shower and joined Addie and John for tea. The woman had simply smiled, rolling her eyes at his childish way of dealing with emotions. Adelaide was on her stomach on the carpet, flipping through a comic book as her legs kicked back and forth behind her. She could feel his eyes on her as well as she could smell the three types of soap he had used to scrub his skin raw in the bath and she was playing the waiting game to see if he was going to say anything soon or not. She read down the next panel, ignoring the tingling on the back of her neck.

"You're not going anywhere, Adelaide. You are staying at Baker Street. I let your mum grab me and do stuff and now I feel awkward and that was _not_ all for nothing!" He suddenly spurt out, causing her to start and Bart to bolt off his lap.

Addie snorted and turned her head towards the detective. "Ewww, and I know."

"Because I said so! And—wait, did you say _I know_?" Sherlock leaned forward on his elbows.

"Yep." She had turned back to the comic and flipped to a new page.

His face turned suspicious and it took everything within her not to burst out in laughter. "Let me get this straight. You, out of your own volition, are going to stay here, at least for the foreseeable future?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Why?" He pinched the bridge of his nose and expected he was not going to like the answer.

"Can't exactly leave John and Mary with you, they'll go insane. Delilah deserves my attention, as well." She flipped the page. "I rather like my job, I'm earning well, I like my friends, Bart likes the place. Why not?"

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

Sherlock sighed and walked into the kitchen to get some tea. "I have no contributing factors in all of this?" He set the kettle to boil and walked back out, arms crossed over his chest. "Nothing?"

Adelaide sighed, closing the comic with a forlorn look and pushed it aside. She sat up on the carpet facing Sherlock and raised an eyebrow in question. "Sherlock, I don't particularly like sharing my bed. You kick in your sleep and talk and grab me with a death grip at that moment in which I _really_ need to go to the bathroom." She fell silent and looked at him expectantly. He said nothing. "I do it because you feel better when I'm sleeping within the same square footage. I can just as easily leave you here right now and I don't because I know you'll flip out halfway through the night. I'm still here."

The genius scrunched his nose and blinked rapidly. "I don't follow."

"You are not a contributing factor, you _are_ the factor."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

She tried again. "There's a very short list of things I would not do for you, Lock."

"What's _that_ have to do with anythi—"

"I'm _in love_ with you, you _idiot_." She got out right before he could finish his sentence.

His mouth flapped open and closed much like a fish before he turned round to attend the kettle. He was back in an instant with a shaky tray of tea which he placed down on the coffee table a little ways behind her. "Are you sure?"

Adelaide laughed. "Er… pretty damn, actually." She watched with amusement as he fixed himself a cup and gulped a large amount, making a face when he scalded his whole mouth with the concoction. "If I knew it was going to be this entertaining, I would have done it long ago just to watch you squirm."

"You… you…"

The brunette stood, placing her hands on either one of his shoulders and forcing him down on his armchair. "Breathe. " Taking her advice to heart, he started breathing hard on the verge of hyperventilation. "Slowly. Come on, it's fine."

"You are aware that I am, in fact, _me_?"

"I am aware."

"But… but… I'm _me_."

"I know, it's so weird. I usually go for guys that aren't quite so annoying."

"Shit."

Addie scrunched her nose. "OK, not really what I wanted to hear, but, then again, I've known you for more than three minutes. Tact isn't really your style."

"No, I owe Mycroft a hundred quid." He looked like he was in pain.

"You didn't bet against my better judgment?"

"No. I bet you were going to laugh, pat me on the head and call me a fool."

"It's a rookie mistake, Lock."

"I know. I totally should have called it. It was so _obvious_. Well, not you. I mean, I should have known better."

Addie grinned and ruffled his hair. "Drink your tea. I'm dying for bed." Sherlock wrapped his fingers around the wrist of her retreating body closest to him and tugged her towards him. She looked expectantly in silence before deciding that if he was not going to talk, she was going to leave. The second tug made her stumble into him on the armchair. An electric spark ran through them both the second he had invaded her lips and after what seemed an eternity of the searing kiss, he moved a fraction of a centimeter back.

"I love you, too."

A bubble of laughter escaped her. "Oh, I know, Lock, you fool." She pecked him once more on the lips and disappeared into the hall.

Bart stared up at Sherlock with an expectant gaze. "Look, Sir Bartholomew, I know that we've had a good run, but I really do love her," the dog whined. "We can still be friends, I promise you." The pup broke into yips, leaving Sherlock to try to console him as he drank his tea in the darkened living room.


	18. Clean

[Author's Note: Update! Yay! So here's a new chapter to tie you guys over. I may be slow in these next two weeks because of the move, but I will try to get you guys your Sherlock/Addie fix as often as possible. Here's a little chapter of a running joke I have with a friend and the state of 221B. So, read and review (it makes packing so much bearable!) and tell me what you think! I own nothing but the OCs and packing tape]

There was nothing on this great big, blue and green marble called Earth that could have prepared Adelaide Villalobos for a bored Sherlock Holmes. More accurately, there was nothing on Earth that could have prepared her for a Sherlock who was going on hs fifth day without a case. John had called her on the second day and jokingly told her to stay out of the living room and lock the windows. Now she realized he had not been joking at all, since Baker Street had barely a moment of silence from the man's manners of passing the time. The sound of Adelaide typing out her lastest experimental discoveries was intersped with the sound of muffled gunshots coming from the next flat over. As she rested her wrists onthe keyboard for the fifteenth time that hour, two questions popped into mind: 1. Who the hell gave Sherlock Holmes a bloody firearm? 2. Where the fuck did he get so much ammo?

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Boom. Pause. Click. Click. Click. Click. Boom. Boom. Boom. "Yahtzee!"

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom that if I kill him it will mean 25-life in prison," Addie mumbled under her breath, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of her nose and deleting the string of nonsense she had typed in between the sounds of heavy fire. How the police had not come to raid the street was a mystery to her.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

"That is it!" With a growl ripping at her throat, she threw open the door of her flat and stormed out, Bart walking dutifully behind her, but visibly nervous of the loud noises coming from next door. She passed the door to Mrs. Hudson's and climbed the stairs two at a time, riping the door to 221B open and barging into the living room, where Sherlock was still shooting at the wall. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I am tr-," her sentence was interrupted by her falling to the floor in a haste when Sherlock, gun still poised, turned towards the sound of her voice. He had been in the process of pulling the trigger again and the bullet whizzed over and crashed into the doorframe. It didn't quite land where she was standing, but if she had stayed still, it would have grazed far too close for comfort. Bart had dutifully dropped down on his owner in protection,but was whining like a frightened pup at the general discomfort in the room. Sherlock, mercifully, dropped the gun on the coffee table, cheeks tinged a raging shade of red and stepped sheepishly towards Addie.

"I'm dreadfully sorry. I was just... er... testing your reflexes?"He tried to excuse, succeeding in peeling Bartholomew Barkington off of his lover and leading him to the sofa. Addie was still on the floor, arms over her head and visibly shaking. It was a much longer process to manage to extricate her from her defensive position and sit her up on the carpeted floor. "There we go. You're perfectly fine. It's OK, the gun is far away from my reach, alright?" His normally soothing baritone was having little effect on her shot nerves in terms of calming down, but did manage to rev her anger up a couple of notches and within a blink, she was assaulting him with both fists.

"You bloody bastard! You could've killed me! You could've killed someone else. What the hell do you think you're doing, you jackass?" She yelled, finding a particularly tender spot on his right shoulder and watching him cringe in pain with a little glee.

"I'm bored," he whined, catching her fists in each of his hands and stopping the assault. "It seemed like a good thing to do."

The look of disbelief that crossed Addie's features was worth the world's treasures and the growl that left her as she struggled free was only an accent to that look. "The flat is dirty, clean it, clean the kitchen, scrub the bathroom, organize your books, tidy the living room, clean your room, Hoover, cook, empty out the fridge of the two dozen expired products within it. There's a whole list, now stop shooting the fucking wall and do something productive with your life!" She ripped her hands away from him and stood from the floor, using them to brush the dust off of her clothes in lieu of wrapping them around his neck.

The bored man rolled his eyes. "Ugh, cleaning. Could you suggest a more menial and mundane task? Honestly-"

Addie had grabbed him by the lapels of his red dressing gown and forcibly knocked him against the wall. "Sherlock," she began, her voice trembling in the effort to remain calm, "either you find something innocuous to do while I'm finished with my work and can resume babysitting you, or I will pull a Mary on you and this time I'm not sure the bullet will miss." The fire burning in her green eyes left no doubt in his mind that she would do it. He settled for swallowing thickly and nodding, trying to regain his breath once she had let go of his gown.

"Clean the flat, right," his voice cracked like a pubescent child as he assured Addie of the task, even though she was barely listening anything past the roaring in her ears while se exited 221B.

Addie was, in short, worried. Therehad not been a single peep heard from the neighboring flat since she had left it five hours ago, and Sherlock had not even texted her to beg her to come over and entertain him. She grabbed Bart's bowl, which he had emptied just a moment ago and washed it in the sink and set it in the rack to dry. She had finished her paper, proofread it and sent it to her boss earlier, relishing in the silence she was experiencing, but now, the void of sound was simply... unsettling. Mrs. Hudson's shrieks from next door only added to the already pessimistic picture Addie had paintedin her mind. She ran to her room in a flash, retrieved a cricket bat she had stashed under the bed and bolted through her door for the second time that day. Bart was right behind her and she took the stairs of 221 with extreme caution when she saw that the landlady's unit was empty. She creeped slowly, making sure to avoid the noisy spots and making as little noise as was humanly possible. The elderly woman was stood frozen at the door, a hand over her mouth, it seemed. The image in her mind ran darker still.

"Mrs. Hudson," Addie whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder and pushing her gently behind her. It was only then that she took measure of the room. There was no blood, no gore, no mess, there was just...well, no mess.

"Someone must have taken him, someone must have raided his flat. Oh, if it was that devil of a man, Moriarty, I'll..." She trailed off and began to sob. Armed with courage she didn't know she possessed, Addie raised her bat and stepped slowly into the flat. If this was the work of a villain -or an exorcist- she was a little bit glad. The place looked spotless. Even the the holes in the walls had been filled with epoxy.

"Why are you carrying a cricket bat?" The young woman started at the noise and, on instinct, turned around and swung the bat blindly behind her, hitting the owner of the voice in the process. Sherlock, dressed in sweats and clearly having worked, judging by the hair that was plastered to his forehead with sweat, tore off a black latex glove to nurse the left side of his face. He worked his jaw over and over for a few minutes filled with tense silence and the slight sound of bone clicking on bone curtesy of Sherlock's dislocated jaw. "What the hell, Addie. Are you still angry about this morning?"

In her shock, Addie had dropped the bat and her mouth opened and closed several dozen times with nothing but gurgles escaping her. "Screams. M-mrs. Huds-son. I-I"

"Oh, Sherlock! They didn't hurt you, did they?" Mrs. Hudson cried, quickly enveloping the consulting detective in a hug.

"They? Mrs. Hudson, what are you going on about?"

"The people who broke in and took your things!"

Sherlock looked exasperated, pushing the elderly lady away from his form and scowling. "No one broke in, Mrs. Hudson, I cleaned. The only person who is hell bent on physically assaulting me is Adelaide."

The landlady looked flabbergasted. "You cleaned?" She looked around the flat, surprised. "Oh, wow."

"Yes, I cleaned. Wipe that look of surprise off your face. It is, after all, a ridiculously easy task, especilly for someone of my intellectual power."

"Yes, but you cleaned. Willingly."

"Well, if you call a death threat willingly, then yes." He stared pointedly at Addie, who had recovered from her shock and was now smirking devilishly.

"Death threats? Really, you two, you really must behave. People will start to talk. It's not proper!" Mrs. Hudson scolded as she left the flat, murmuring about young couples.

Sherlock was still staring at Addie. "You hit me with a cricket bat. Again."

She muffled the bubble of laughter with her hand. "This time it was unintentional, I swear." He rolled his eyes exasperatedly and headed to the kitchen to get some ice for his face.

"You know, people do ask where I get the bruises from."

"What do you tell them?" She asked curiously, jumping onto the kitchen table, taking in the gleaming surfaces of the room.

"I don't tell them my girlfriend hits me, that's for bloody sure!" He put the ice into a rubber bag and filled it with salt and water.

Addie snorted, taking the bag from him and pressing it gently into his cheek while hestood patiently before her. "And here I thought you were a big advocate for gender equality." He hissed at a particularly tender spot. "Sorry about that. Stay still."

"I'm going to get a headache."

"I'll get you some pills in a moment, Lock," she coddled, moving the bag up to his cheekbone.

"Oh, my God, she wasn't kidding!" John's voice permeated the flat along with Mary's giggle, they spent a few minutes in relative silence before entering the kitchen. "You cleaned!" He remarked in disbelief.

"The bathroom tiles are white, John. Not cream, white!" Mary exclaimed, giddily searching every nook and cranny of the flat with her husband.

"White? I lived here for two years and I never saw the color of the tiles!"

"Why is it so hard to believe that I cleaned!?" Sherlock, asked, his eyes darkening and his eyes not moving from Addie's smiling face.

"Because Sherlock Holmes makes messes for others to clean. Sherlock Holmes blows things up and leaves spare body parts lying around!" John laughed and took an awestruck 360 of the kitchen. "This is fantastic! Why did you clean?" The taller of the two said nothing.

"Oh, it's one of those situations," Mary teased.

"What are you prattling on about?" His teeth weregritted tight which only made his jaw hurt more, but he ignored the dull ache.

"You made the flat girl friendly. Keeping the missus happy, eh?" She continued, leaning on her elbows on the table beside Addie.

"I thought this was a better alternative to shooting the wall, is all," he replied, but his cheeks began to burn.

"Oh, you are! That's so sweet. Addie threatened you, huh? Oh, this is adorable!" The mother croned and shared a laugh with her husband.

"I don't do anything just because Addie tells me to. I am a grown man. I wanted to clean. I cleaned."

Mary ignored him and turned to Addie. "What you hit him with?"

"After he almost shot me, my fists. Now, cricket bat."

"Why'd you knock him with a cricket bat?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mrs. Hudson was screaming, she thought there were intruders."

"Oh, bloody hell. You weren't lying! It's like I walked into an episode of those mystery shows!" Greg Lestrade entered the kitchen, staring with curious eyes at the sight of 221B in complete order. "I thought you were pulling my leg, John!"

"Why is he here?" Sherlock bellowed, interrupted in his tirade when Addie pressed the bag of ice a little harder into his bruise and gave him a look.

"I texted him as soon as I came in!" John answered, smiling widely.

"Addie, did you put him up to this?" Greg patted her on the back. She flashed him a small smile before turning back to the injured man, wodering how red a person could get before their head exploded.

"The world does not begin and end because Addie said it is so!" Sherlock argued, a frown set deep in his features.

"Yours does!" Mary teased, poking the man in the side while all the others laughed.

"They're making fun of me," he whispered to Addie urgently, grumpy expression still present on his features.

"I'm aware." He gave her a look and she groaned. "Oi, Sherlock worked very hard on the flat. Be nice or I'll do a number on you with the cricket bat!" The two men stopped laughing immediately, Mary grinned wider.

"Dislocating jaws is a specialty of hers," the dark haired man mumbled, earning him a disapproving look from the woman attempting to defend him.

"You're on your own, then." Addie placed his hand over the ice bag and went through the motions of preparing tea in the immaculate countertop. A few minutes later, they were all having tea, raving about how much better it tasted without random body parts lying around.

"Oh, dear, it's true."

"Mycroft? You texted Mycroft?!" Sherlock questioned John with a murderous look on his face.

"It's the news of the century, Sherlock. Of course I texted Mycroft!"

"Oh, brother dear. You've cleaned up the toxic dump of your flat, how wonderful!" Mycroft announced in his tight wording and sarcastic tone. "Are you ill or are you really just that terrified of Miss Villalobos?"

"Isn't there a war you should be attending to, Mycroft? I know how much you love those."

"And miss this momentous moment, Sherlock? I do hope you think me above that."

"Why are you here?"

"I am trying to make myself believe that this flat is, indeed, clean and not just some optical illusion. Where was your stash hidden?"

"Behind the biography of Guy Fawkes," Sherlock replied, bored.

Mycroft looked pleasantly surprised. "You did clean! In all seriousness, are you ill?"

"I am not ill. I am not afraid of Addie. I. Just. Cleaned." Sherlock said through clenched teeth before storming out to the living room.

"You guys are seriously terrible," Addie said with a tiny hint of a smile, handing Mycroft a cup of tea before taking to the living room. Sherlock was sulking on the sofa, holding Sir Bartholomew like a baby against his chest and mumbling softly into his floppy ears. She padded softly to the sofa and plopped down beside him, although he did not make any sign of acknowledgement, he just continued mumbling.

"And your mum is looking at charges for assault and battery of her amorous partner." Addie laughed.

"I'm sorry, Lock. You just scared me. In my defense, you did shoot a loaded gun in my direction this morning."

"You hit me!"

"I know. I'm sorry." She kissed his uninjured cheek.

Sherlock pouted, clearly cashing in on Addie's apologetic mood. "And my face hurts because someone hit me with a cricket bat!"

"I know, Lock, but really, I just did what everyone who meets you for more than a minute thinks of doing." Sherlock laughed, patting Bart on the head when he licked his hand and nuzzled his head into it.

"You are the absolute worst, really."

Addie smiled, "Oh, but I'm so good at it."

"I will concede you that fact." He sighed, "Could you please rid this place of all these people?"

"Of course, mate." There was a beat or two of silence as she pondered her method of action. "Oi, you lot have a minute flat before there are two very naked people in the living room sofa." Like mice scurrying from a sinking ship, the crowd in the kitchen gulped down their tea and were beelining out the door. "Ta-da!"

"Thank you, love." The young woman gave him an odd look. "Addie, sorry. We can't really pull of endearments, can we?"

"Nope," she popped the 'p' sound and grinned before pressing her lips to his gently, avoiding the angry red welt near the corner of his mouth where the majority of the cricket bat impact had gotten him. He hummed contentedly, burying his face in the mess of her curls. "No, but, seriously, you cleaned. What's up with that?"

"You can be very persuading when you want to," he said rationally, a cold shiver running down his spine.

"Scary mad face?"

"It will haunt me in my sleep tonight!" The consulting detective admitted. "I thought you were going to peel my skin off." A fit of laughter broke out between them, the hound between them yipping happily.

"You can be your own experiment. You can end up in a textbook."

"Speaking of books, I left you some space in the bookcase."

"Oh, that's...weird, but nice." She gave him an odd look. "Why do I need bookcase space again?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "You know, so you don't have to go back and forth to your flat."

"That makes sense, I guess." There was a good dose of apprehension in her voice.

"Good. Good. I left you space in my bureau and my closet, too." He added, playing with Bart's ears and leaving the pup staring at him curiously.

"To save me time, right?" There was a wicked smile creeping up her lips, one that made Sherlock feel uncomfortably awkward.

"Yes, since John isn't here anymore you could use his old room to work and I would promise to let you work in peace. No shooting the walls."

"Riiiight."

He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes now focused on the coffee table in front of him. "I mean, you coud fix stuff around here however you'd like it. I'm not particular. Just so you could be comfortable and you wouldn't have to go-"

"Back and forth, yeah, you said that."

"Yeah." There was a long quiet moment between them. "Only if you want, you know. Efficient."

"So, what exactly should I transfer, hypothetically?"

"Oh, well books, movies, clothes, your instruments, Bart's things, your work stuff, you know."

"You do know that's basically everything that's in my flat, right?"

"Is it?" He asked with fake surprise. "Well, if you must."

"Lock?" He hummed in acknowledgment, but Adelaide did not proceed until he looked straight at her. "Is this your twisted way of asking me to move in?"

"Well we've been alternating sleeping in each other's flats for months. Don't you think it's logical?"

"Do you want me here? Bear in mind that I would be here all the time, except when I'm at work. 24/7, Lock."

"I am aware. I still want you here. I always want you here. Even after you beat me with cricket bats." He smiled widely and Addie thought he looked surprisingly vulnerable and childlike. She kissed him again, her fingers carding through his dark curls in a gentle fashion. "Yes?" His eyes burned hopefully at the question.

"I guess I should indulge you." She waved the notion off as if she were making some great, selfless sacrifice for him.

"Such a sweet and merciful woman taking pity on a wretch like me." He laughed, nudging her side with his elbow. "Can't you just say 'yes' like a normal person."

"The sooner you realze that this," she gestured between them, "is anything but normal, the better it is. And, of course, by this, I mean you." With much complaint, Sherlock moved Bart off of his person and to the emoty cushion on his other side. Addie stared at him suspiciously, her spine tingling as she inched ever farther from him and bolted from the sofa altogether.

"Don't run, Galie, I want to embrace our weirdness!" He called after her, running her around the living room and kitchen, weaving in and out of chairs and, in more than one occasion, under tables. The sounds of Adelaide's laughter echoed on the walls, accomanied only by the sound of her scurrying over the coffee table to go hide behind John's armchair. Sherlock captured her mid-hop and threw her over his shouder as if she were nothing more than a ragdoll. She kicked and squirmed trying to free herself, but he would toss her momentarily and her fear of being dropped kept her still as death.

"Put me down!"

"Blue isn't really your color?" He purveyed, commenting on the blue t-shirt she had on.

"Not that, you dork. Although, thank you for that one, twit. Put me back on the floor!" His smile was his only response. He trekked out the door, down the stairs and out to the hot, sunny streets of London. Most everyone knew Sherlock and so were not really surprised to see him walking around with a less than cooperative woman on his shoulder that kept screaming dark oaths at him. It was only a minute or two that they reached the park and its fountains. Addie struggled all the more, clearly seeing where this was headed, but the man kept a true grip on her. He hopped the side of the fountain bowl, trickling drops already showering them both before he unceremoniously dunked her into frigid -not to mention, unsanitary- water. Addie resurfaced, sputtering and pushing her wet curls out of her face. "Scotty, I am going to kill you!"

Sherlock could barely breathe, he was laughing so hard. "Your face! Oh, your face!" She punched his already injured shoulder once, just as soon as she got her feet back under her. "Ouch. Oh, your face, Adelaide."

"I hate you!" She bellowed, pouting and wading her way out of the fountain.

"No, you don't!" His wide smile still remained, and she was tempted to slap it off.

"Yes, I do!" A crack of thunder overshadowed her rebuttal and, at once, rain started to pour. "Bloody fucking English rain! What the hell?!"

Hands twined around her waist and lips oressed against hers, intersped with small bouts of laughter in his part. Sherlock Holmes was a giddy little boy at the moment. "You have fun with me, admit it." He kissed her again, silencing her sure complaints. The wired muscles of Adelaide's back relaxed and she opted for just giving him a dirty look, even though she felt like strangling him. "You're just mad because you still love me."

Addie scoffed, a smirk unintentionally skimming her lips. "Yes, I still do. I'm also going to love the new phone you're going to buy me," remarked casually, pulling out a dripping piece of what was now scrap metal out of the pocket of her jeans.

The genius flapped his mouth open and closed for a few minutes before he managed something intelligible. "Oops."


	19. Visit

_[Author's note: I'm supposed to be packing, buuuut... it kind of popped into my head. A relatively normal day for Sherlock and Addie and... other... things. *shifty look* It's innocent... enough. Anywhooo, I'm leaving this here. R&R and let me know what you think. I am open to requests, if you would like to see something specific or give a prompt or challenge. I own nothing but OC's and a FedEx sticker]_

_To-do list: finish report, buy milk, do laundry, buy tea._

_Oh, dear God, I'm going to hate myself in the morning, for sure. It's nearly three a.m. and I am still typing this stupid report because the stupid cow has no idea what she's supposed to do. Clickety clickety click go the keys. I will really learn to hate the sound of my laptop soon, and the fact that my eyes are barely open is not helping much either. Maybe I should think of something . Obla-di obla-da life goes on, brah! La la, how the life goes on*. Damn, that's a good song. Maybe I should play it while I work. No, I'll wake Sherlock. He needs the rest. He detests sleeping, but he's going to run himself into the ground if he doesn't start taking a little better care of himself. Although, I suspect he's aiming for a short life and going out like a hero. Click click clickety click. Teehee, that clicking sounds like that song I heard the other day. Oh, what was it. Home, let me come ho-o-ome. Home is wherever I'm with you**. Dear Lord, that song was fantastic, too. Sherlock loves saying I have an eclectic taste, but after you've lived in as many continents as I have, you learn to love everything you find. Oh bloody fuck, I'm finished! Praise the universal forces! Except gravity. Gravity can go fuck itself in a corner, bloody bastard. _

I save and send the attachment, and close the lid of my laptop as if it had done me some terrible offense. I entertained the thought of sleeping on the desk, but I knew that it would only be hell to pay when I woke up in the morning when my neck screamed for relief. Pushing away from the desk I left John's old room, my new office, as of three weeks ago, and turned off the lights on the bright turquoise walls. I hadn't changed much in the flat, it was still Sherlock's place, after all, and I rather liked its drab charm –although it was maintained radically cleaner now-, but this little space I made all mine. It was loud and mismatched and I loved it to bits, but it did not have a place to sleep, so I am going to have to go downstairs. The heaviness in my eyelids caused me to miss a step or two on the stairs and I cursed gravity once more as my bum collided with the jagged edge of the stairs, leaving me to console myself with a deep breath, rather than loudly cursing, as it was my real desire. I was opening the door to the bedroom a second later.

In the middle of the bed, wrapped in a tangle of sheets, was Sherlock. It was a miracle to see him asleep, considering he almost never went to bed unless I was in there already. It pained me to send him off tonight, sensing his hesitation as he stood in the doorway of my office and pleaded silently for me to come with him. I would have, could I have ignored that report just a moment more, but if my laboratory lost funding because our incompetent manager did not know how to file reports, I would be out of a job. I sighed, everyone was dead asleep. Not even Bart had lifted his head when I came in. I suppose that was better. However, what did preoccupy me was Sherlock. Usually people looked peaceful when they slept, relaxed and careless, but he looked troubled. I knew he was in the midst of a nightmare, I knew it was because he was anxious to leave me alone at night, the tosser, and it was difficult to see him reaching out in his sleep, hands clutching at his sheets, searching for the specter of a body that was meant to be there, his jaw tensed and the veins on his neck palpitating rapidly in stress. I slipped into bed, wrenching his fingers from the covers and settling myself beside him, my fingers automatically running through his hair.

"Blood, blood, blood," he whispered in his sleep. "Please stop bleeding." He clenched his jaw further and tears sprung from the corner of his eyes; sobs tried to battle their way out of his lips, and I was beginning to shake with sorrow.

There was one thing you had to know about Sherlock Holmes. He wasn't a person who dealt with emotion. John and Mycroft swore to me time and time again that he had never shown anyone any interest as he had showed me. The closest thing was Irene Adler, and he was conscious of the fact that she was playing him a large amount of the time. The reason why he had not attached himself to anyone was because he could not deal with the emotions that came with it, or rather, he had not found someone he deemed interesting enough to go through the bother of dealing with them. Mycroft's words, not mine. It wasn't because he abhorred the spectrum of human emotion and thought it the hand of lesser mortals to experience these, but because when Sherlock felt something, it was intense. Happiness, sadness, rage, fear, elation, amusement, confusion, arousal, love; he felt them all to a point that it tore him down from the inside out and threatened to kill him. It was intense and it radiated to those around him, a little bit like being contact high. Right now, at this point in time, I was scared and in pain and wanted nothing more than to wilt into nothingness and I knew, above everything else, that these emotions were not mine. It wasn't until a tear trickled down my face and onto his cheek, effectively waking him with a sharp inhale, that I realized that I was crying.

He opened his eyes, watery and bloodshot and his hands clasped the sides of my face to better focus on me through the alarm clouding his judgment. "What's wrong, Adelaide? Why are you crying?" His voice was husky and raw from sleep and tears.

"Why are _you_?" He took one of his hands away just long enough to feel his own eyes dampened with tears.

A dry crack of a sob escaped him before he took control over his mind, setting himself into autopilot to get through his ordeal. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Addie."

I shook my head, wiping away the last of my tears with a quick brush of my fingers. "Don't apologize, Sherlock. Never apologize for that."

"I upset you."

"So'd your face!" I replied childishly, not wanting to dwell on the fact that I was crying because my empathy was bumming me the hell out. A smile flashed over his features. It was brief thing, but it made me feel a little better and proved that what was left of him after the nightmare was still salvageable, if a little damaged. "Are you OK?"

"I'm terrified." He sat up, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes and breathing deep. "I'm terrified, and I can't turn it off and it's driving me up a wall, Addie."

"But I thought that you hadn't gotten any notes lately. Not since I moved in."

"That's the problem. They know you moved, and they wouldn't dare touch you when you're here, they're smart, but the rest of London is fair play."

And here we begin a game of _Things I shouldn't say to Sherlock_. "So, what? Are you going to keep me in the flat until all this mess is over?"

"I have half a mind to," he replied gruffly. "Pretend I didn't say that like I was angry."

_Reasons why Sherlock is a human being (and not a cyborg like Greg suggests): he gets irrationally angry, like everyone else._ "Haven't you ever considered that's exactly what they want you to do? They'll know I'll want to kill you for even suggesting it."

_Two, he sometimes fails to see painfully obvious loopholes in his, otherwise, flawless logic._ "_Shit_. You would hate me and sneak out. It would be the perfect moment to attack. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because, for being such a cynical jackass, you are still painfully innocent and not everyone sees your actions as the least harmful solution it's meant to be."

_Three, even if he does not admit it, he needs a therapist. _"What am I supposed to do? You're aware of the point and are still sure of how you would react if I took the measures I thought necessary. John and Mary would try to shoot me, Lestrade would assure me he would be fine… What am I doing wrong?" He pulled his knees up to his chest and curled up in a very childlike fashion, giving him the impression of a much younger man, eyes clenched tight and mind churning a million miles an hour.

"Nothing, Lock. You want to be so many steps ahead in this mess, thinking it will give you the advantage. This person, whoever they are is challenging you in ways you thought would never affect you and it's eating away at you."

_Four, because no matter than he says, he's still just an ordinary man who doubts his every talent._ "I'm just as dull and stupid as everyone else, aren't I? I'm going to lose and it's going to be my fault."

I grinned. "Yes, you're an idiot. A fantastic, genius, amazing idiot of a man, Lock." I pecked him on the lips and brushed his hair back gently. "Because only an idiot would take such a risk. You are the man every man wished they were." Another peck. "You are the man who has taken the world on his shoulders." Peck. Peck. Peck. "And I am scared stiff of what you'd do, Sherlock Holmes." Living here the last three weeks, I have grown accustomed to receiving this man beaten, bruised, shot and, stabbed at, having been bound, and generally mistreated, and listen to him patiently as he regaled me with stories of how John and he took the case by storm and managed a fantastic discovery. However, it was days in which he came in silently, taking his seat on the armchair or sofa and sat to think that worried me the most. Whatever happened on those days was so terrible, that he didn't even have the strength to tell me. He'd avoid me, hours on end, until I dropped the subject, and it set my nerves on edge. What was so bad that he couldn't tell me? He had taken me plenty of times on cases and we had been extremely close to signing our death certificate, but there is still something he considered scarier? I wasn't even sure if I even wanted to _know_.

"I love you."

"I know, Lock."

"Just once, could you just say it when I do?"

I sighed. "It's not a greeting, Sherlock. We're not saying _how do you do?_ "

"I'm aware of your reason behind your madness, but could you please." He looked like he was swallowing down another wave of tears.

"Sherlock, you know I do."

"Then say it, please. Just this once. _Please_, for me."

I kissed his forehead before I rested my own against it and stared into those sad, blue eyes that seemed to possess me to do their bidding. "I love you, Lock." He sighed, stretching out his legs and pulling me towards him in a single tug, settling down onto the covers without a single word being exchanged. One of his hands lingered in the small of my back, while the other stroked my arm in lazy circles. Sherlock was, to be honest, terribly proper. Contrary to popular (i.e. Mary's) belief, we did not spend all of our time in bed copulating like rabbits. I could count our encounters with the fingers on one hand and probably have a finger to spare. On one hand, it was due to his terrible way of dealing with the motions (I mentioned his overwhelming emotions); on the other, he was still a little traumatized by Mrs. Hudson walking in on their first encounter. It stalked him like the bogeyman. Considering that his past experiences had been mostly high or drunken mistakes in dark college dorms (I might have gotten him horrendously drunk one night for him to tell me), I could see why he always kept such a distance. The even breaths I was hearing beside me proved that while I was rehashing my experiences with Sherlock in my mind, he had fallen asleep once more. Oh, the lucky bastard.

I woke up with a start to a sloppy kiss. "Lock, leave me alone. Five more minutes." The onslaught continued. "Sherlock!" I ground out with a growl.

"Not quite, I'm afraid." Sherlock's voice sounded distant and I peeked one eye open to see Bart staring me down with what I swore was a smile. I found it easier to laugh at the situation and wipe my face with the back of my hand rather than tell off my lovely bloodhound. I dragged the pup towards me and pressed him close to me with a grin.

"Good morning, Bart. You're the loveliest man to wake up to!"

"I resent that, Adelaide."

I frowned. "I don't see _you_ waking me up with half a dozen kisses, Romeo." He smiled, leaning against the frame of the door and crossing his arms.

"That's because I'd rather watch you wake up _happy_."

A bubble of laughter escaped me and I scrambled out of bed, pulling Bart along with me and brushing past Sherlock, still in his pajamas, on my way to the bathroom. Brush my teeth, have some tea, take a bath, go to work. My morning routine really was dreadfully boring. I rinsed out my mouth and splashed my face with cold water to scare the sleep away from my eyes and was fully intending to go have some tea, but I was surprised by having Sherlock right behind me when I turned away from the sink. "Shit, Sherlock, you scared me!" There was a split second before he backed me up once more against the sink and collided his lips to mine. He tasted of strawberry jam and Earl Grey, and I vaguely wondered where the perfectly proper version of him was stowed away while this version of him surfaced. Most likely he was having tea and reading the paper in one of the rooms of his Mind Palace. Well, my proper counterpart was in my Mind Palace, as well. Of course, my Mind Palace was more of a studio apartment than a palace, and all the information looked like it had been organized by Sherlock on the shelves –in other words, haphazardly and chaotic. He had lifted me, I finally noticed, onto the sink, trying to make up for the difference in height, not that it helped much and was trailing his lips down my neck, holding my mess of brown curls to the side as to have a better access. There was a series of noises that I am not proud to admit were really mine once he found that perfect spot near my pulse. We disconnected from each other long enough to dispose of shirts before our lips were back on each other.

_Bang. _

"We're here with Del, Sherlock!" Mary's usually comforting tone was not exactly welcome and I practically cried in frustration and Sherlock pressed his forehead against mine, both of us panting and secretly planning to change the locks on the front door as soon as possible.

"Be there in a minute!" He called over his shoulder, offering me an apologetic smile and sitting on the edge of the bathtub. He turned one of the taps and splashed his face and neck, breathing deeply before tugging his shirt on. There was a brief kiss exchanged before all I could hear was Mary's giggles and muffled conversation through the door. I finished stripping and turned on the shower head, reasoning that I might as well take my shower now and save myself the embarrassment.

"Addie!" A tiny Delilah squealed as she reached out for me to take her from Sherlock's hold. The tiny girl, turning two very soon was fond of everyone in our little circle of friends. Sherlock, surprisingly, was her favorite person in the world, with Mrs. Hudson in a close second (although I suspect it has something to do with the candy she bribes her with).

I squished her to me and smiled. "Good morning, Delilah!" I stared at the object in her hands. "What do you have there?"

"Dolly!"

I turned to Sherlock with a scowl, toddler on my hip while he simply smiled at me. "You gave her a voodoo doll from your case?"

He shrugged. "I took the pins out. Who knows, maybe the guy will be able to see again."

"I cannot tell you on how many levels you are damaging this girl, Lock."

"Says the woman whose mother is a pathological liar and whose boyfriend solves crimes for a living with his blogger of a best friend. Do you really want to go apples to apples?" He gave me a look and I sighed, putting Delilah on the floor so that she may continue playing with her dolls. "Tea, toast and jam." He pushed the items in my direction with a smirk.

"You made me breakfast, you're babysitting, how terribly _domestic_ of you," I said with a grin, hopping onto the kitchen table and taking a sip of tea.

With a wicked grin that completely made my day, he settled into the space in front of me, tangling his legs with mine and setting an arm on either side of me. "Oh, I could show you just how _domestic_ I can be."

The grin on my face never faltered as I bit into my toast, seemingly uninterested. "There's a two year old in the room, Lock."

He groaned. "Oh, but _Addie_—"

"You fickle boy." He pouted, and I fought the urge to kiss him for it. "You'll get over it when she starts asking for pictures, and you know it." His pout turned more severe to the point of comical. "I'm going to work. Keep her alive, will you?"

"Fine, yes." He kissed me and turned away, taking a seat with Delilah on the floor.

* * *

"Those two should never be disposed in the same bottle! Not _ever_! Are you trying to get us all killed?" I yelled at the idiot my boss hired as a lab manager. I had caught her before the mistake was made, but what about when I wasn't here?

"The acetone is volatile. It will evaporate!" She screamed back.

"Not in a closed _fucking_ bottle, you moron! Where's it going to go, Narnia? How the hell did they let you graduate?"

"Narnia _is_ imaginary, Adelaide," Sherlock's deep baritone interrupted, as he poked around my lab bench with curiosity. Yes, just what I needed.

"Oh my God, you're so funny!" Sherlock did a double take of the woman currently talking to him while she twirled her hair. He looked back to me in alarm. "Can I help you, Mr—?"

"_Not_ really. I'm here to see Adelaide."

"Well, I'm not strictly supposed to let anyone in the labs that isn't personnel. I could get in a lot of trouble."

"I've been here loads of times. Mr. Reinhold has never said a thing to me," he argued with the most plastic smile he could muster. _Thank you, Sherlock!_

"There's been a change in protocol. Some dangerous chemicals have been mixed and until I get to the bottom of this, I'm afraid I can't leave you unattended."

"Considering _you're_ the one who mixed them, I think I'm moderately safe with Addie, thank you." He talked as he was distractedly pipetting cell line samples onto my prepared Petri dishes and wrapped them tight and set them on the shaker beside him. He really _did_ enjoy antagonizing people. Meh, as long as my cell lines were clean, I was fine with it. "Addie, can I have the small pipet tips?" I set the box beside him with a smile, trying to ignore the woman currently glaring at Sherlock, attempting to find another angle.

"How about some coffee?"

"Not interested," he replied, sing song, as he deposited samples into wells on another project I was working on.

She turned to me. "Adelaide, he can't be in here."

"Oh, Tracy, God knows I cannot make this man do anything he doesn't want to do unless it's under extreme duress."

"I want him _out_!" She hissed, stepping far too close for me than was absolutely necessary, causing Sherlock to look at us over his shoulder with a weary look.

"Sherlock!" An older gentleman, Mr. Reinhold, my boss, greeted enthusiastically. The man was a ridiculously big fan of Sherlock and his blog and basically had an open door policy when it came to the clot. "How are you chap? Keeping busy, I imagine! I read John's blog about the witches of the west end. It was marvelous!"

A proud smile sprouted on Sherlock's face as he shook the older man's hand and I had to contain my laughter at Tracy's bubbling anger. "Sir, he doesn't have clearance to be here," she tattled, quite proud of herself. Mr. Reinhold, however, was not amused.

"Tracy, this is Sherlock Holmes, the detective. He can have the whole bloody _lab_ if he wants it. I expect you to accommodate him in whatever he may need.

"Actually, sir," Sherlock interrupted me before I could say he was an idiot with nothing to do. "I was wondering if I could steal Addie a little early, today. It's this case, or at least, I think it could be a case and I need someone to verify the identity of some substances I found."

"Will it be dangerous? She's one of my very best, Sherlock. I can't think to work without her." I puffed up with a grin, feeling very proud of myself.

"It will be, I'll admit, but I promise to deliver her tomorrow safe and sound." He acquired a love-struck expression that was very unlike him, akin to the ones he wore when he was dating Janine. The thought made my stomach turn. "I know it sounds stupid, but, she's my muse. I can't bear to take this one on without her, sir." I knew that was icing on the cake and various things happened simultaneously: my boss turned into mush, Tracy gasped and glared at me and I scoffed rather loudly, but was mercifully ignored.

"Of course, son. You know what; you can take tomorrow off, Adelaide. I'll take care of it, just help this man."

"You are very kind, Mr. Reinhold." Sherlock shook his hand solemnly while I peeled off my lab coat and folded it, dropping it into my cubby hole with haste. Well, if I was getting a day off, I might as well commit to the scene.

"Please tell me you don't suspect it's—" he quickly caught my drift and followed through.

"I dunno. That's why I need you. If it is, half of London has to be shut down."

"Oh, not again. Let's go, quickly. We can't waste time." I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder and took his hand, leaving an awe-struck boss and a sour co-worker behind as I climbed into the elevator with Sherlock. As soon as the doors closed, we burst out in laughter, wiping tears of mirth from our eyes, in clear disbelief that there were people that easy to influence. "I had things to do today, you sod!"

"You worked enough last night." He argued, throwing her arm lazily around her shoulders and walking her to the curb, where he hailed a cab instantly. Honestly, I needed to learn his secrets of public transport. "You need to sleep," he remarked as I yawned, tucking myself into his side.

"I need food and movies and—wait, where's Del?"

"Mary came home earlier than expected. I got bored. Do you want fish and chips? We could stop up here and head home." I nodded, not really caring what was going on anymore as exhaustion dripped down from my crown to my toes. I could remember the sounds of doors opening and closing and idle chatter about traffic before I found myself seated on the sofa of 221B. I really did need to stop spacing out like this. It was counter-productive. Sherlock handed me a packet and switched on the telly to some menial program he hated but he knew I loved. "I ordered yours burnt to a crisp, as you like them."

"Oooh, yummy!" I could barely hear the show over the sound of crunching, but I hardly cared. I tossed Bart some chips, watching him become delighted at the fact that he was eating people food, and grinned widely at Sherlock.

"You're a mess."

"So's your face!"

"You _do_ know that isn't an argument for everything, right?"

"Of course it is!"

"No, it's not! It's ridiculous!"

"So's your face!"

"Addie!"

"So's your face!"

"You're impossible!" He was giggling tossing chips in my direction.

"So's your face!" I picked off the chips on me and popped them into my mouth. He stuck his tongue out at me. I stuck my tongue out at him. Somehow, don't ask me how (I told you I have to stop zoning out), we ended up attempting to pin each other on the floor a minute later. It was… interesting. Considering how much Sherlock's now untucked shirt had ridden up and that my fingers were all splayed, palms down on his abdomen, attempting to keep him down, the giggles between us slowly evaporating with the time. "John isn't—"

"No, he's at the surgery, still."

"And Mary?"

"With Del, at the shops."

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Herbal soothers' time." There was another moment of silence and I could feel the muscles of his abdomen trembling with every second that passed.

"Oh, fantastic!" Sherlock tangled his fingers in my hair and pulled me down for a kiss. He sat up, pushing me right along with him as I made an easy task of the buttons on his shirt, giving him a moment to shrug it off while I got rid of my own. A guttural groan escaped from the furthest recesses of his chest and he in a single fluid movement got both himself and I the short distance onto the cushions of the sofa. Trousers disappeared, jeans were thrown far away, teeth grazed necks and hands roamed wherever they could reach.

"Must you do that now, brother of mine?" I shrieked, startled by the voice that was so calmly standing in the living room, waiting for his brother to pay him mind.

"Myc, what the _hell_?!" I threw a cushion at him and with a scoff he turned around to face the door while I ran around trying to get my clothes on. I was missing my—

"I believe these are yours?" He held out a pair of purple underwear at the end of his umbrella and I tried to understand why I was being shunned to the ninth circle of hell if I was still alive.

"Thank you, Myc. I'm going to go die now."

"Now, don't be dramatic, Addie, I'm sure you have _something_ to live for. I assume sex is something to look forward to, if your current performance—"

"This is not a moment for you to talk, Mycroft!" I called from the hall and slammed the bedroom door shut. "Not now, not ever."

_To-do list: change locks, lock doors._

* * *

_*Obladi Oblada by The Beatles_

_**Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes_


	20. Sick

[Author's Note: I know, I know, it's taken longer than I said it would, but moving and adapting have been taking up a lot of time. Buuut, here's a new chapter, albeit shorter, to tie you over. Remember to read and review (it makes the cold bearable) and you can suggest or challenge me, if you also wish. I own nothing but OC's and a wool coat.]

Soft, fluffy, frosty mounds of snow invaded the sidewalk of Baker Street, turning the normally dreary and gray street into something of a winter wonderland. Standing pale and silent, forehead pressed against the window, Sherlock observed the world below with an expression that bordered on discomfort. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was twisted into a grimace, but what was most shocking was the worry in his eyes. Why did he look so pained? What had him in such a state of borderline human emotion? Well, while he observed tiny, dull people trample on perfectly crisp snow, he was trying -in vain- to block out the sound of heaves coming from the bathroom. Adelaide was the person in the bathroom. It was a rather violent, unwelcoming sound he did not wish upon even his worst enemy, and he wanted it so much to be over. It really was dampening his spirits. However, Addie's stomach flu was running the show today and Sherlock was doing his very best not to become queasy.

It's hilarious to think that a man who had no problem microwaving eyeballs and stewing brains in acid was having problems stomaching a live person throwing up in close quarters. It was half-way rational, though. It wasn't the fact that she was being violently sick, it was the fact that he had to be supportive and have bedside manner; two things that, no matter how good he was with Addie, were not his forte. He had texted John fifteen minutes prior and the good doctor had both told him that he would send a prescription for stomach soothers for Adelaide to the corner drugstore and to go do some very ungentlemanly things to himself when the consulting detective demanded he come and 'fix his girlfriend'. He had taken far longer than it was acceptable to walk down the street and back, making mindless banter with the people on the street just to spend an extra minute away from his flat, but try as he may, he had to return. He had procured the medicine from the drugstore, and it was currently in his pocket, but he could not, for the life of him, force himself to the bathroom door to deliver the load.

"I can smell the smoke coming off the top of your head," Addie mumbled, toothbrush dangling from the side of his mouth as she dragged herself into the living room. Sherlock started and turned on his heel, shrinking back slightly into the window. "Boo," her voice was hoarse and devoid of her usual cheer.

"A-are you feeling better?" His voice wavered dangerously and for a moment, Addie could see his relation to Mycroft in the way he tried to detach himself from any emotion to face the situation at hand. For a fraction of a second she found herself despising this person she adored, if only for that one action.

"Oh, lovely! I love feeling like an open spigot," she remarked, ssmirking sardonically.

"Really? Good. I was wondering when your subpar immune system was going to kick this bug!" The Union Jack pillow that usually lounged on John's chair hurled in his direction; he ducked just in time.

"I hate you!"

"Why must you always turn to violence, Adelaide?" Sherlock was smiling, pushing off the wall behind him and taking slow, measured paces towards her.

"Why must you be an insufferable git?"

"Because you love me that way," he said simply, extending his arms and placing his hands on her shoulders. She remained silent. This was true, and seeing him smile, only if it was just to spite her made her feel a little better and all those horrid feelings of wanting to draw and quarter him and his emotional detachment to hell, dissipated. "Do you want something for your stomach?" His fingers tangled in her hair and he pulled her forward into him. She groaned and nodded, burying her face into his chest. He fished in his pocket for a small bottle, giving it a gentle shake to make the pills rattle. "John sends his love."

Addie automatically perked up, snatching the bottle from his fingers with glee. "I am going to marry that man."

"I'm pretty sure he's already married."

She waved her hand in a dismissing manner. "We'll have an open relationship," she said simply, already knocking back a pill and swallowing it dry.

"And me?"

She smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, you can marry him, too, I bet."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but still had an amused smile on his face. He watched distractedly at how she closed the bottle and stuffed it into the pocket of the blue dressing gown she had nicked off him. It was wildly entertaining to see how the gown slung off her left shoulder, just as it did for him, and how it dragged dangerously close to the floor due to the height difference between them. It was about then that he noticed that the t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms she was wearing were also his and the pants were pooled heavily at her feet where only toes peeked out.

"That's not what I meant," his voice sounded distracted; his expression confirmed it. "Raid my wardrobe, why don't you?"

"Your PJ's are warmer than mine."

"If you bought nightclothes that covered more of you, you'd be warmer."

"But, they're not cute!"

Sherlock groaned. "We've been over this, Ad. You don't care about cute! You don't wear them anyway!" It was ridiculous, even to him, that he was the sensible one in this constant argument.

"The people at the store care about whether or not they're cute. They look at me with their judging eyes-"

The young man began laughing. "You're such a daft bird, Addie."

"I'm daft!? You get nauseous around sick people but have no problem around decomposed flesh!"

"Yes. And I've accepted that. That's why I'm never a violent person. Unless I'm high. Or bored. Or annoyed." Addie threw another cushion at him, which he easily dodged. She opened her mouth to reply, but clamped it shut quickly and rushed away to the bathroom. "Addie!" He followed her, albeit slowly, and watched, like a frightened child as she heaved but nothing happened. She retreated just enough to be out of range if the bowl, breathed deep and curled up on the cool tile like some sort of house cat.

"Why are we all convened in the bathroom?" Mycroft's sharp, perfect pronunciation broke through the silence and the only sound that followed was Sherlock's frustrated groan. "Oh, dear, that's not good. Are you still not well, Adelaide? My sincerest apologies." Addie raised her eyes just enough to give the elder Holmes with an odd expression and rolled herself away from the soon to be feuding siblings.

"I have no time for whatever you're offering, Mycroft, I already have a case," Sherlock interrupted before the man even had the opportunity to say anything.

"No he doesn't,"Addie called, still facing the other way.

"I'm very busy with New Scotland Yard."

"No, he's not."

"I can't possibly leave, I'm taking care of Addie."

The woman in question snorted. "No, he isn't!"

"Excellent," Mycroft exclaimed, clapping his hands together, ever-present umbrella under his arm. "Then you have no excuses not to entertain our parents tomorrow!"

"I can't have Mother and Father here, Mycroft!"

The government official sighed. "And, why is that, Sherlock?"

"Addie's here."

"Yes, I'm aware, but as you're clearly not taking care of her, be a gracious host and Mummy might make her a nice broth to soothe her stomach."

"They don't know that-"

Mycroft interrupted him. "That you are currently fornicating and living together out f wedlock? Oh, brother dear, do grow up. I told them ages ago. They were ecstatic; something about the Holmes' name living on." He seemed bored at this last bit, fiddling with his umbrella as he spoke. Addie turned around just in time to see Sherlock's face burn an extraordinary shade of red.

"Clean... Mummy... Tea... Lemons," Sherlock brushed past his brother and out into the flat, picking up misplaced objects and suddenly running into an anal-retentive cleaning spree.

"You're a terrible person, Mycroft." Addie said, nonetheless, smiling. "I know for a fact that your parents were not going to pass through London on their trip. You changed their plans."

The man sighed dramatically. "It's been an awfully slow week at work."

"Didn't Parliament get three bombing attempts?" Adelaide inquired, as if trying to jog the man's memory.

"Like I said, slow."

* * *

"Why is Sherlock cleaning again?" John asked, a clear look of concern on his features.

"His parents are coming over and apparently his modesty has been compromised." Addie grinned widely, sipping on a cup of hot cocoa and snacked on biscuits on Sherlock's armchair while she watched her significant other pitter around the flat dusting the shelves, and putting the finishing touches on his preparations.

"Why aren't you helping him?"

"I have the stomach flu."

"Not anymore, you're eating fine. You're welcome for the soothers, by the way," he added sarcastically before she threw him a kiss.

"I baked a pie!" She defended, pushing the fringe of her hair out of her face and watching the detective organize his books by size, color and theme. "I'm giving him space for him to determine whether or not having his parents know he's not a virgin is the end of the world or not."

"I thought he hasn't been a virgin since college."

"He hasn't, but his parents had not been privy to that information, or so he thinks."

John tilted his head to the side, an eyebrow raising slowly in question. "So, what you're telling me is, Sherlock is afraid of getting a reputation as promiscous with his parents. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

Addie shrugged, flipping a page on the magazine across her lap and taking another sip. "Ridiculous? I'm not the one that put a pillow between us last night, Johnny boy."

"You're kidding?" John grinned madly, his smile stretching out to the very limits of his skin, making Addie wonder if the action was actually painful for him or not, but very amused, just the same.

"I just Hoovered there, Adelaide! You're going to get biscuit crumbs all over the chair!" Sherlock whined, picking at invisible crumbs around Addie. There was a knock at the door and Sherlock's world stopped as he dropped everything he was doing to hop towards the door to answer. "John, fix your jumper, Mary get in here, Ad," the girl mentioned raised her eyebrow in challenge, to which he backed down immediately. "Everyone just relax," he added, more to himself than for anyone else's benefit.

"Oh, merciful Jesus. The man is off his rocker," Mary remarked, leading a teetering Delilah into the living room and praying her husband's mate did not notice the biscuits her daughter was grinding in her tiny hands and spilling them on the floor. With a grin, the brunette stood from the armchair, straightened the short, blue cocktail dress around her and joined the nutter of 221B at the door.

"Oh, don't the two of you look adorable!" The Holmes matriarch exclaimed, enveloping both Sherlock and Addie in a bone-crushing hug.

"We look adorable in a very separate way, you mean. It's not like we come as a pair, you know," her son stuttered out, earning him an odd look from his parents while the rest tried to suppress their laughter.

The mother's brow crinkled in thought, much like her son's did when he was trying to piece together a puzzle before answering carefully. "I'm not quite sure what you mean, dear, but sure."

"Hello, poppets. How are you faring these days?" The elder Mr. Holmes greeted with a a grin, accentuated by the same sharp cheekbones his youngest possessed.

Before Adie could even get a word in edgewise, Sherlock offered. "I'm definitely fine. I'm not sure about Adelaide, I don't see much of her. Why would I know about her business? What are you suggesting?"

The concerned father trailed his eyes from his son to the bounding ball of positive energy that kept his son from going insane, thinking that maybe she had missed a breakthrough moment or two in recent days. "Is he quite alright, Addie? Tremendously drunk, maybe?"

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, how I wish I could tell you he was." Sherlock decided to use this time to look affronted before turning on his heel and heading into the flat. "Tea?"

"Yes, please."

"This place is so clean! It's fantastic what a woman's touch does." Addie laughed, watching as John warned his best mate to keep his mouth shut or be a little more normal.

"I'm sure that Lock doesn't clean just because I told him to, Mrs. Holmes."

"Yes, he does," John remarked with a grin, serving tea for everyone from the tray Addie had just brought to the coffee table.

"I do not!" Sherlock contested, speaking up for the first time in a long time.

"Of course you do! If not, you get sent out to the couch. Frankly, a little ridiculous, considering it's your apartment first."

The current tenant of 221B did not respond, instead, he sat in a corner away from the crowd, Bart settled over his lap and licked at his fingers, much like he did when he was thinking of something particularly sad or emotionally straining. It seemed that the bloodhound aided him in his humanity. That, and he was quite sure that this was the cutest dog ever to have seen the light of day.

"Really, Sherlock. Are you well?" His mother pushed a little further, setting her teacup down onto its saucer.

"Adelaide is the one who was ill, Mother. I don't see how I could get ill from her ailment."

There was a bout of awkward silence after the young, dark haired man's dry retort. John and Mary became very interested in drinking their tea and feeding Delilah biscuits and juice. "Have I missed something to make you so sour? Did you get a new skull? Is it Redbeard's anniversary?"

Sherlock covered Bart's ears with a gasp. "Don't mention Redbeard in front of Bart. I haven't talked to him about life and death!"

"Poppet?"

"My name is Sherlock, Mother."

"I was trying to appeal to Adelaide, William." She said sternly, and it was obvious at the moment where Sherlock got his unbendable nature from.

Sipping briefly from her cup, she set the porcelain artifact down on the table in front of her and sighed. "Sherlock and I live together. For months now, really. And we have sex, have been for several more months. I love him, have for a pretty long time. However, your son lives under the impression that you all think that he's a pure, chaste creature of light and that knowing he's had me -and other women- in manners that might surprise and abash even the most risque of people, will make you disown him in shame."

"Tara Wilcott," his father piped in, rifling through his mind for the name.

There was a ripple of static in the air, and the consulting detective stopped petting Bartholomew in a rather sudden fashion. "What did you say?" Sherlock questioned, Bart trying his best to dispel the tension in the room by head butting him in the side and convincing him, in that way that dogs do, to not pay attention to the humans and play with him, instead.

"Tara Wilcott, that very nice girl you lost your virginity to. In the kitchen. Of our house."

Addie, Mary and John sputtered their tea at that moment, turning red with shame that was not their own. Even the bloodhound looked uncomfortable. Sherlock sputtered quietly, staring at his parents with wide doe eyes. "I... We aren't... You're."

"Sweetheart, honestly. Sex, drugs, jail time, and faked suicide have not changed our opinion of you, Sherlock. Why would you being in a stable relationship and living with Addie suddenly be a deal-breaker?" The older woman fussed with her shawl as she said this, calm as ever as she did.

"Because-"

"My sweet boy, I love you, but you're a sodding idiot." Addie snorted, hiding behind a veil of her hair to laugh quietly. She honestly loved this woman and the brutal honesty she had come to expect from the Holmes' clan. With a curious expression, she watched Sherlock fight off a smile that threatened to break his quiet and deeply offended exterior. "Besides, one of my boys had to have some semblance of societal integration, and it's obvious that it won't be Mycroft."

"I hardly think this lot constitutes society, Mother."

"Sherlock!"

"He's kind of right, Mrs. Holmes." Mary interceded, the rest agreed.

Adelaide and Sherlock waved at the heads of the Holmes family from the sidewalk as they sped away in their taxi towards the airport. Addie was wrapped in Sherlock's black coat, which was dragging lightly on the mounds of snow shoveled into the side of the road, making the owner frown severely.

"That coat is dry-clean only, Adelaide," he announced petulantly, but his voice sounded a little nasally.

Somewhere between avoiding her in illness, avoiding her in the bedroom, stressing over his parents and cleaning the flat, some poor, unsuspecting bug took over hus immune system. "You're getting sick, Sherlock Holmes." The man, acting like the child he was, rolled his eyes and marched himself into the flat, stopping only to sneeze in succession four times before finishing up the stairs.

"Allergies," he announced, although completely unprompted.

"In the dead of winter? Nope." She watched with amusement as he instinctually lay down on the couch and wrapped himself in a throw that Addie kept there for when she fell asleep reading late at night. Bart, much trained in the art of comforting all ailments, curled up at his feet to warm him and lay his head on his leg.

"It's a tickle," he remarked, waving it off as he buried himself further into his sheets. "Sickness is for lesser mortals."

"Of course it is, Lock." She tucked the ends of the blanket around him and sat on the very edge of the sofa, trailing her fingers in the slightly snow-dampened ebony curls and feeling his scalp burning up in a fever. She groaned almost silently. A sick Sherlock Holmes is an impossible Sherlock Holmes. Last time, she was forced to dose him something fierce with something Mary had given him just to keep him quiet enough for him to get some actual rest. She had chased him down half of London while he wore nothing more than a mangled dressing gown. She was still recovering photos of that scandal. For a drug addict, he had an astoundingly low tolerance for withstanding -and not acting on- fever hallucinations.

"I know who it was! I know who killed Colonel Mustard!" He announced loudly, ripping the sheets off him and startling Bart in such a way that he took to the floor. There wasn't much ceremony before he broke off and out the door of the flat.

"Oh, bollocks!" Addie dialed her mobile as she gathered but his and her own coat and followed him off into the freezing street. "Mary, you remember those pills you gave me when Sherlock was sick? Do you happen to have any? And a pellet gun?"


	21. Traps

[Author's note: So, I thought, how much can I procrastinate in two hours? Two episodes of Top Gear and a soda later, this chapter came to life. Read and review this little filler chapter and procrastinate on, my friends. I own nothing but the OCs and a Netflix account. PS- I apologize for any format issues, different computer I can't quite use yet.]

A fantastically sweet melody drifted through the air of 221B as Sherlock dedicated his time to plucking at the strings of his violin. Addie had fallen asleep to the sound, nodding off, nestled in the warmth of the coffee-colored comforter that wrapped the bed with her trusty companion, Sir Bartholomew Barkington. That had been quite a while ago, but the consulting detective, deep in thought, had not succumbed to the physical drain of his body. What woke Addie up was the silence.

In what appeared to be a start, she sat up in bed, no longer hearing the sound of the violin, but also not hearing the usual sounds of Sherlock puttering about the flat looking for something to pass the time. There was, at once, the sounds of dull thudding and furniture scraping the floor before the door to the bedroom was ripped open and strange figures pulled an unsuspecting and frantic Addie from the bed. Her canine companion growled and bit and made all sorts if scary sounds, all of it ending in being kicked away by an unknown assailant that dragged his mummy off towards the door of the flat.

"Sherlock!" She screamed, kicking and squirming over the shoulder of whoever deemed it fit to kidnap her, loud enough to rouse an almost unconscious detective from his stupor and struggle, in vain, to get to her. "Lock!" The door of the flat closed just in time to watch the barrel of a gun strike the side of his head and his lithe figure crumple to the floor.

"Hello, Adelaide," a stern, yet mild voice greeted her as she was forced into an armchair in a dark, empty room. Addie's only real response was the rather vulgar hand gesture she directed towards the voice. "Oh, you're so difficult, girl. Honestly, I tried to be as gentle as possible, but your boyfriend got in the way."

"I swear, if I get back and see one single _hair_ out of place on him, I will skin you alive, starting with your nasty bits," she seethed, dark hair sticking out in all directions and giving her an over-all deranged look.

"Who says you're getting back? Who says he's _alive_?" The voice, a muscular, calm, pawn of a man asked pleasantly as he sat across from her, all blue eyes and charm.

"You wouldn't have gone through so much trouble just to kill me or him. A bullet would have saved you the petrol."

"Very observant. I bet you know why you're here, even."

"You're the one who kept leaving messages on my door."

He smiled. "I only delivered them, but yes."

"You jackass, you cost me my security deposit. Stop knife-securing notes on my door. Haven't you ever heard of sticky notes?!"

"I think you're focusing on the wrong thing."

She crossed her arms over her chest, the sleeves from Sherlock's t-shirt running down to her elbows in a hilarious fashion and making her seem even more childlike. "I'm out six hundred pounds, I think I'm focusing on exactly the right thing."

"Aren't you concerned about your health? Aren't you scared?"

"Mate, I live with Sherlock Holmes. I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes, there is nothing you can do that could possibly surprise or frighten me." Addie replied, frankly bored of the situation. "And you kicked my dog. I will get you for that later."

"I do apologize, but he was attempting to eat my face."

"As he bloody well should. Now, what. Do. You. Want."

"Holmes' impatience really has rubbed off on you, hasn't it? Where does he find such a merry band of misfits? It's honestly a wonder."

Addie pretended to snore, causing her kidnapper to smirk a little wider before leaning forwards on his elbows and tilting his head. "Well, since you don't seem to want to enjoy the pleasantries, I'll get down to it. My employer wants your boyfriend out of the way. He's annoying, he gets in the way of plans and if he continues this path, he will be dealt with in some very unpleasant ways."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at the man. "You say that as if I had any sort of influence over him. It took me the better part of a year to convince him to use bedsheets that were a color other than white, and that's just a minor inconvenience. How exactly do you suppose I stop him from annoying you?"

"He listens to you, doesn't he? Steer him away."

"You're wasting your time and mine. Why not just handle it yourself?"

"Because my way ends up with him dead, and my employer is fond of his character quirks."

"Ew. I'm dating him and not even I would express my affection in such a manner. Does your employer have the hots for Sherlock?"

The man furrowed his brow, cringing in pain. "I'd really rather not know. Just, don't...," he trailed off. "Tea?"

"Erm, sure. Earl Grey, if you have it." She seemed considerably more enthused about the prospect of tea.

Meanwhile, on the other side of London, Sherlock Holmes was coming back to the world for the secind tine that night. He wiped the blood that trickled down his left eye, ignoring the stinging it left, and stood up shakily. Bart was watching him from beneath the coffee table, too frightened to come out and see him. He coaxed the animal from under the furniture, giving him a once over and finding thwt he was fine, save for some mental trauma that would surely scar him forever, much unlike himself. He was fairly certain that if he opened his mouth his jaw would click out if place in a painful manner, kind of like Addie's did because of her- _Addie_!

"Adelaide," he called, his voice weaker than he would have liked. He cleared his throat, a metallic taste coating his tongue, and tried again. "Addie! Ad!" He swore under hus breath, but was a little relieved that Mrs. Hudson had chosen this weekend to visit her sister out of town. Otherwise, the old woman would be hysterical, instead of just him. However, hysterical or not, he knew he had to remain calm and analyze. The men had been wearing dark clothing, as kidnappers did. None had very distinguishable marks, as it should be in their trade. They didn't want anything to identify them. There was sand on the floor and pebbles mixed with dust. An old factory, a house close to a shore or a cement plant could be the culprit's hideout. He drew a handkerchief to the side of his head to staunch the flow of blood and sat still for a moment or two. The man was attempting to overcome the most horrendous sensation he had ever felt. Even though he knew, and he was certain of it, that he would retrieve Adelaide without any extreme complication, the fact that they had taken her in the first place had him shivering like a child in fear.

"Oh, Lord. I hope this isn't permanent," he drawled, rolling his eyes and shaking the cobwebs from his head vigorously. "Bart! Barty boy!" He called, the dog padding softly towards him and straightening up to place his front paws onto his human's legs. Human and beast stared at each other for a long while in total silence, save for their equally labored breathing. "Are you ready to get your mum back?" Bartholomew growled deep before letting out a long howl, causing the detective to smile. "I like your attitude, Bart. Come on, let's go. Come!"

The detective had worked out where the hudeout was, not that it was much of a hideout. The place screamed underground activities with their hi-tech security cameras and barbed wire around the fence. Sherlock decided that since they had so calmly walked into his home and taken whatever they wanted, that he could do exactly the same. The old milling factory had been repurposed many times over, but now housed what appeaared to be a loft with lush greeneries and an artificial beach that clashed heavily with the armored exterior. Thankfully, Bart had dug a hole under the fence big enough for both of them to squeeze through it, although with a little effort in his part, but they were soon walking care-free into the lair. He crashed open a few dozen doors before he got ti the one he wanted, a litte surprised that no one had stopped him yet.

"This is the part where you rel- Addie, are you watching a film and having tea?" Sherlock lowered his gun, resisting the urge to face palm as he saw hs significant other, still in his pajamas, curled on a sofa with a cuppa and what appeared to be The Jungle Book in the background.

"You were taking too long, I handled it myself." She answered, distractedly watching Baloo sing and dance on the screen.

"What do-" He stopped his senetence short when, through the over-all darkness of the room, he could see three bodies lying on the ground, unconscious, and what appeared to be tea saucers smashed around their heads. "Of course, leave it to you to find the most ridiculous way of rendering someone unconscious."

"It worked, didn't it?" She bit back, affronted, but quickly quieted at the sound of steps. "Shh... Come here."

"Oh, Adelaide, what did you do to my men?" Mycroft asked, having just come in thriugh the door to find his detail useless.

"These are yours? Damn. I didn't see them. It's dark. I can't tell one from the other." More footsteps were heard and she swore colorfully.

"Mycroft?! What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

The elder smiled. "Adelaide called me."

"You called him. Why?"

"You weren't answering your mobile, so I called Myc. What did you expect? That I would sit here and wait for you to feel like coming? I even sent you a text with the address." Addie replied, holding Bart to her and petting him.

"Seriously?" He retrieved his device from the depths of his trouser pocket to see the missed calls and texts. "Ohhh... Oops?"

"You're useless, Lock," a laughing Adelaide announced, clearly tickled by the situation.

"You've downed my men. What do you propose we do now?" Mycroft sighed, twirling his umbrella aimlessly in attempt to entertain himself.

"If I knocked them out with a saucer, you're better off without them, Myc. So, front door?"

"Might as well, Laide."

"Since when do you two refer to each other in pet names?" Sherlock asked, clearly angry of being kept out of the loop.

"Oh, ages and ages. We also eat lunch together every Friday," Addie answered, walking towards the door with a grin and exiting, only to tip toe backwards a second later, a gun pointed at her chest.

"Mr. s Holmes. Just the men I wanted to see. My employer would like me to inform you that since you have been warned about what would happen if you meddle in his business, that he expects you to behave from now on."

"Your employer can go take a long walk off a short diving board. Now, if you would like me to cooperate, you'd remove your firearm from that woman before I do something exceedingly stupid, yet very satisfying." Sherlock drawled calmly, raising his own gun level with the man's head and cocking the pistol.

"Do you really think you're quicker than me, Sherlock?"

"No, I'm not."

"Sherlock, put the gun down," Mycroft hissed, as if they were still children.

"My dog is." The menacing growling that had all the while been ignored was painfully obvious at the moment, as the dog leapt towards the assailant and grabbed onto the first solid piece of flesh he could find and shaking his head vigorously. There was a scream as the man fell sideways and four other figures flooded into the room. Through a rain of bullets and tea pots, Sherlock, Adelaide, Mycroft and Bart ran like bats outta hell towards the main entrance and into Mycroft's car, piling in quickly into the backseat of the Jaguar and asking the driver to drive as fast as he dared back to London.

"What exactly did he say? Did he tell you who he was working for?" Sherlock asked, frantically, pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door while Addie scrubbed Bart from all the blood he had drawn from the nameless man and Mycroft sat on the edge of the tub handing her more bottles of shampoo.

"For the millionth time, no. He just said that you got in the way a lot, which is true. That you had to stop, unless you wanted some very bad surprises, which was most likely more for my sake than yours and nothing else."

"Nothing? Think, Adelaide. Really think."

"Just something about flying. That he always knew you'd fly, or something equally idiotic."

Sherlock stopped mid-step, and he turned on his heel sharply to face her. "What?"

"That he always knew you'd fly." She repeated slowly, rinsing Bart off mindlessly as she stared at him worriedly. "Why? What?"

"Flying is just like falling."

"Lock, we don't know it's him."

"Who else could it be?"

"He blew his brains out, Sherlock! Not even you and Mycroft can stage _that_!"

He rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes, exhausted with the night's activities. "You're right. You're right, I know it, but if anyone could pull something like this off, it would be him."

"It's not! Molly laid him out, the back of his skull was gone."

"She laid me out, as well."

Addie crashed the bottle onto the side of the tub with a groan. "Are you suggesting that Molly is a double agent?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then, what?!"

"I don't know, I'm just bouncing ideas. I'm planning for the worst."

"It really is no use, brother, dear. They're already ten steps ahead of us, I'm afraid. That's why no one came when Addie took care of my people. They accounted for it. Anyone else would have searched her for a cell, why leave her with it? This was all window dressing."

"What do you suggest we do, then, Mycroft? Have a tea and _bend_ over?"

"No. What do you always do when a criminal eludes you?" The elder Holmes grinned, rolling down his sleeves and standing from his spot at the tub.

"I wait for them to make a mistake."

"Indeed. Laide, pleasure, as always. Bart, good job. Good evening."

"Come on, Bart, you sweet boy. Time to dry!" Adelaide cooed as she helped the hound of the tub and ran a towel over the mahogany fur. "You're such a good boy! You nearly ate someone today. There we are. All clean and shiny." The dog gave her a long lick on her cheek, causing her to laugh and wipe herself with the towel. "I'm glad that you're so pleased." She turned around to put the towel into the dirty clothes hamper and sighed. "The bathroom looks like a murder scene. I'll be scrubbing this for hours-" A pair of arms were squeezing her tighter than she would have liked, but she laughed just the same. Sherlock's usual soap, violin polish and formaldehyde scent lulled her into a serene mood and she found herself twisting her arms around his form and burrowing into his chest.

"I don't care how you do it, whether it be a gun, a teapot or a bloody paper plane, but you come back to me, any and every time. Do you understand me?" Sherlock had taken hold of her head, cupping her cheeks between his long, tapered fingers and stared with raw energy at her.

"Of course. Who would look after you if I didn't?" Addie grinned cheekily.

"I'm serious, Adelaide!"

"So am I, Sherlock. You take stupid risks when I'm not around, so it's my job to come back. Clear and simple. Now, can I finish cleaning up?"

"I'll do it. You go change and go to bed. I'll be there when I'm finished. Take Bart." She nodded and reluctantly turned away from him, not before pecking him on the lips and ruffling his hair.

Half an hour later the sound of rustling sheets woke Bart, which startled his owner, considering the great beast was lounging on top of her. Sherlock Holmes, dressed for bed and obviously just having taken a shower, hummed a soft tune under his breath as he climbed in.

"You're cheery," Addie mumbled, sluggishly, as she attempted to keep her eyes focused on the man in question.

"I've got a tune in my head. I don't want to forget it before I write it down," he commented, as if it were the most obvious reason under the sun for his behavior. This caused Addie to giggle at him, while he smirked reflexively, not really seeing what was humorous in the situation, but enjoying the fact that she was laughing, nonetheless.

"You're such a geek."

Seemingly affronted, he retorted, "I am not the one who reads comic books and watches obscure movies and cartoons."

"No, because that would make you a cool geek, not just a geek."

"I'm cool!"

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

"Are too! I flip my collar up and scowl and look dark and mysterious and cool."

"No, you look like a man who is thoroughly confused, which most of the time, is accurate."

"Oh, yeah. So, you go for geeks, is that what you're saying?" His smirk was a clear challenge, even in the darkened room.

"Yeah. I thought you were aware of that," she answered, matter-of-factly. She calmly smiled. "I like geeky boys who wear their collars turned up like fools, run around solving crimes and who use composing as a vehicle to get over the fact that their girlfriend was taken from their flat under their watch and are too busy replaying the footage over and over in their mind."

The man scoffed, but looked a little sheepish. "Well, that's horridly specific for just a qualifying list, Ads. Who can possibly fill those shoes with any realistic parameters for the relationship ahead?"

"Stop. Worrying. You. Clot."

"How can you be so bloody calm?"

"What's the use in being hysterical?"

"None!" He bellowed, before he caught himself and cleared his throat. "I mean, none. I'm not being hysterical."

"No? So if I go to the front door that has never been locked in the time your possessions have been in this flat, I would find it unlocked, would I?"

"Yes, yes you would," hus voice wavered slightly as the crease in his forehead deepened with guilt.

"Don't mind if I do!" Addie threw her covers off, nudged Bart to the side and set off towards the front of the flat with a frantic Sherlock behind her.

"No, Addie, that's... No."

"I'm just going for a check, is all. Everything should be perfectly normal, right, Sherly?" He ignored the horrible nickname and lunged for her just before she turned the doorknob, knocking her down onto the carpeted floor with a dull thud. "What the hell, Sherlock?!" She was laughing, but she squirmed from under him to get free, all the same.

"I might have... Booby-trapped the door." he admitted awkwardly, causing Addie to look up at the tangle of rope, knives and sandbags hanging from the ceiling above the door.

"You're a ridiculous man, Sherlock Holmes."

"I'll concede you that point."

"What if I woke up before you and got killed getting the paper?"

"I would defend myself in court saying I did it all for you?"

"Oh, Lord. You've ruined me, Sherlock!" Her lips pouted out in a childish manner and the detective thought it the perfect opportunity to kiss her.

"Not that I have any rebuttals, but, why so?"

"That was actually touching! I would have gotten gored by three different blades, and I found your excuse _touching_." She groaned. "You've turned me into your perfect, appeasing, morally skewed, damaged sociopath."

The smile on this man's face could not have been aany wider if he had slept with a wire hanger in his mouth. "Well, maybe you should appease me all-together and marry me." There was an awful lot of loaded silence as the two, who had been laughing just a moment before, stared at each other with wide doe-eyes and confused expressions. Both of them did their best impression of a goldfish, flapping their mouth open and closed for the longest of the time before giving up on the endeavor. Then, they promptly fell into uncontrollable bouts of laughter.

"How about we get some sleep? It's nearly four in the morning."Adelaide suggested, and with a tangle of limbs, they got off the ground and into the bedroom, the matter filed into the '_Do Not Mention_' stack inside their brains before the went off to dreamland.


	22. Texts

[Author's note: I know, it's short and fluffy, but that's what came out. I apologize. R and R. I own nothing but the OCs and a coffee maker on the fritz. See you soon!]

A conference room full of hard-core scientists giggled and chattered amongst themselves, trying to keep a key speaker from finding out what was so funny. Well, everyone but Adelaide, that is, who had slung down in her seat and covered her beet-red face as her phone, along with everyone else's at the conference buzzed on the table before her.

_Has anyone heard the one about the Prime Minister, the Physicist and Doctor Who? SH_

Growling in the back of her throat, she hammered at the buttons on the touch-screen surface of her phone in an ungodly speed, all the while ignoring all the little buzzes and the background of laughter signalling Sherlock had finished regaling the tale that ended with the punchline '_I Dalek that one bit_', a joke she had heard a million times from the man and, until now, had fiund it sort if cute.

_William Sherlock Scott Holmes, stop texting this minute or I will call Myc on you. Or worse, Mary. -Ad_

_I told you there would be consequences for abandoning me, Adelaide. SH_

The phones around her buzzed, and she groaned once more, everyone now turning to see her blush again and whimper.

_Oops. Wrong list. SH _

_Sherlock, I didn't abandon you, you moron, I'm at a work conference. One that you are ruinining, by the way. -Ad_

She smashed her phone down onto the table to join the rest of the room in clapping for the current presenter and welcoming the next one, who was still wiping tears of mirth from his eyes from Sherlock's last joke. Adelaide breathed deep. She had known it was going to be difficult to leave Sherlock alone to his thoughts and worries, but he was definitely pushing his luck of her ever coming back with this. She had told him about the the trip a week ago, and the detective had seemingly taken the news well. He nodded thoughtfully, and wished her a good conference and a good trip, andand the following day, he had been surprisingly quiet, which she attributed to his having a new case, and when she left, he waswas nothing but smiles and kisses. It turned out he haad solved his case in three minutes and then spent his time getting the mobile numbers of everyone who was to be there, gave them a security check (courtesy of Mycroft) and had spent the last two days texting the whole conference room. In his favor, it wasn't until just now that he slipped up and revealed his intentions to the general public. Mercifully, only her phone buzzed.

She opened the text to find a photo of him holding Bart 'hostage' and flailing his pistol in his left hand. _Come back or the dog gets it. SH _She rolled her eyes at the message before another one came through. It was another picture of Bart and him, but this time, he was pouting pitifully and holding the dog close. It was sort of cute and it brought a smile to her face. _Come home. SH_

_I will. In three days. -Ad_

_Three days?! But, we're out of milk! SH_

Addie scoffed, still grinning and put her phone away, ignoring the tirade of messages coming in. The room buzzed as a collective, and everyone laughed. The next dayss were going to be long, but she would not let Sherlock get on her nerves. Of course, she would have felt a little different had she seen the text, as the aforementioned man was showin off her knicker drawer. With Bart as a model.

"I will murder him with a pair of tweezers when I get home!" Adelaide had justreviewed her messages as she came outof the conference room for lunch. EveryoneEveryone was giving her odd look and terrible grins. She felt like there was nothing worse in the world that could possibly happen to her.

"Oh, Adelaide, it's all in good fun," Mr Reinhold, her boss, said with a cheerful disposition.

"Sir, living with Sherlock is hard and exciting and rewarding, but this is downright childish," she raved, stabbing a carrot a little more forcefully than was required.

"Why do you think he does it, now, eh?"

"Because he's bored."

The older man sighed. "Oh, do give him credit, Addie. If he's bored he can get another case to keep him occupied." He grinned, making Addie roll her eyes as petulantly as possible and gestured for him to go on, but the man merely cut into his chicken and ate.

Addie stepped into her room for the night, falling into bed with little grace just as her phone rang. She picked up the receiver and sighed. "Yes, Scotty."

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Because I know you'd been monitoring the hotel cameras. I can hack into mainframes, too. Yours, namely."

The deep baritone chuckled. "I'm impressed. It's good to know that you've done something other than hear mindless and scientifically unsound drivel while the Germans brainwashed you to join their new world order."

"There are so many things wrong with that sentence, Lock."

"No matter. What time should I pick you up from the airport tomorrow?"

"For the fifteenth time today, Sherlock Holmes, I'm not going home for another three days."

"But, I'm bored and Bart misses you. He's been staring at the door and sleeping on your side of the bed and sneaking clothes of yours out of the hampers."

"Oh, right, I need to do laundry when I get back."

"I already did it."

Addie whimpered. "My clothes are all ruined, aren't they?"

"Believe it or not, I cleaned my own clothes before I met you, Adelaide Galatea Villalobos."

"So, what you're telling me is Mrs. Hudson did the laundry?" She said plainly only to hear a laugh on the other end of the line.

"Yes, yes she did."

"You're useless, Lock."

"Yes, yes I am. Auf wiedersehen, Addie."

"Night, Lock."

The next morning she was happy to find that no mass texts had been sent through the night, and as she sat at te breakfast bar, sipping down her fill of coffee and tea, a tiny red-headed girl sidled up to her. "You're Adelaide, right?" Addie nodded reluctantly, and turned to face the other woman. "The person who keeps texting us, is it really Sherlock Holmes? _The_ Sherlock Holmes."

"Yep," she answered, popping the 'p' with more effort than was necessary.

"And you know him? Are you his assistant or something?"

Addie's eyes darkened a fraction. "Or something."

"You're so lucky! He's so delicious. I'm going to text him back. Who knows, maybe I get somewhere with him?" With a perky grin and a toss of her hair, she sauntered back into her land of unicorns and rainbows.

"Oh, wondrous. I'm going to become a murderer," she muttered, downing her cup in one swallow and standing from the table. "Oi, Red, come here a minute."

* * *

"Bored! Bored! Bored!" Sherlock chanted as he paced the living room with his hands deep in his pockets.

"And so goes the mating chant of the consulting detective while in his natural habitat and without his mate." John joked as he crossed the threshold of the flat with a boyish grin.

"Very funny, John. Go ahead, prey on my weaknesses."

"I thought I already was." He plopped down on his chair and sighed. "I'm not going to ask how you're holding up, because I can already see. Any cases?"

"No, I solved them," he answered distractedly, picking up his violin and beginning a series of arpeggios in quick succession.

"_All_ of them? You need an extra hobby, mate."

"Can I babysit?"

"Voluntarily?" The taller man nodded. "I feel I should say 'no' for some reason," he replied suspiciously.

"Dammit! And I had such a good experiment, too."

"And that's why. Honestly, mate. Is her being gone really killing you this much?"

Sherlock stopped mid-tune and lowered the violin. "I have to tell you something."

"That you're insane? Yes, I gathered that-"

"I proposed," he interrupted his blond friend.

"_What_?!" John bellowed, now on the edge of his seat.

"Proposed is the wrong term. I _suggested_ that maybe we get married. It was a passing thing, I swear."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing! It was a passing thing. We laughed about it and moved on."

"Except you haven't. So much so that you felt you had to tell me. Oh, bloody hell, is this you opening up? I don't like it," he finished, scrunching his nose.

"This is why I don't tell you things, John! Besides, I don't want to get married," he picked up a tennis ball from beside the coffee table and tossed it for Bart to fetch.

"No, you just want her with you the rest of your life. God, you're whipped."

"Are we back on that? I am not _whipped_!"

"It's alright, Sherlock, because so is she. It's not a big deal. Now, for the wedding serviettes, do you want swans or Sydney Opera House?" He continued to poke fun at his friend, who was now scowling as he tossed the ball around.

"It's not funny, John."

"Oh, but it is.

"I don't want to get married!"

"I believe you!" He smiled at the look of disbelief from his friend. "I do, really. I just... I've never been so happy for you in my life. I mean, yes, sometimes I want to knock your teeth out, but you've legitimately grown up."

A short bout of silence fell between them. "I'm not whipped."

"You so are, mate!"

* * *

The phones in the room buzzed again, and everyone quickly went to their screens to see what had been sent. Adelaide, for one, couldn't be bothered to check as she tried her hardest to pay attention to the frightfully dull speaker who was more interested in knowing what the great detective had sent.

_Are you enjoying yourself? SH. _

Addie took hold of her phone when she saw only hers had buzzed. She scoffed. _I would if I could get to hear a whole lecture without hearing the room buzz -Ex gf_

_You're being childish. I'm just livening up the day. SH_

_You're a child, Lock -Ex gf_

_Will you stop it with the ex-gf thing? SH_

_I would if I could. -Moving out_

_You're not moving out! SH_

_Says who? -And taking the dog_

_Says me. SH_

_You and what army? -Becoming German_

_I will follow you through Europe, Addie. SH_

_Good. Cause I'll be in Africa -Misleading you_

_Addie... SH_

_Addie? SH_

_Adelaide! SH_

_What?! -Thoroughly annoyed_

_I miss you. SH_

_Really? Hadn't noticed. -Still annoyed_

_Please come home. SH_

_You know when I'm back, Lock. -Ad_

_But I said 'please'. SH_

_I'll call you later. -Ad_

"How's he doing?" Mr. Reinhold asked, a big smile on his face.

"He'll be fine. He just likes showing off."

"You should be flattered, Adelaide!"

"Why is that, then?"

"Not every man goes to such great lengths to tell a woman he misses her and wants her back home."

Addie smiled wickedly. "If that floats your boat, sir, you're more than welcome to have him."

"You're so wicked, Addie, really.

* * *

"Sherlock! Why aren't you answering your phone? I've been calling for ages," John called as he entered 221B to find that the flat was not empty and that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were seated on the sofa as Sherlock prepared tea. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company. I thought you had gone insane or something."

"Oh, don't worry. I just invited my parents 'round for a spot of tea. Would you like some, John?"

John frowned, a little confused. "You invited them? Voluntarily? No offense, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, it's just-"

"Don't worry, John, dear, it surprised us just as much." The elder woman replied with a kind smile.

"Everything alright, then, Sherlock?"

The detective looked nonplussed. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't it be? I just wanted to catch up with my folks."

"Yeah. Of course. You're perfectly fine. You know, most people just call the ones they miss, not ruin their conferences."

"Oh, is that what this is about? You miss Addie, Sherlock?" His father asked, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he stared at his son.

"I am perfectly fine with her being gone for a few days. I'm not a child. I'm not obsessively attached to her." The youngest Holmes argued, only to receive three pitying looks from the ones around him. "Will everyone stop looking at me like that? I am a grown man!"

"We know that, Sherlock. We just know what you're not saying." His mother admonished.

"What does that even mean, Mother?"

"I think the term they use now is _whipped_," his father supplied, only to make the good doctor double over in laughter.

"Time for you to go if you want to avoid the traffic. Have a nice trip, pleasure to see you," Sherloc ushered hs parents to the door and closed it behind them as soon a he could. John was still laughing.

"Your parents are brilliant, they are."

"I hate you."

"Not as much as you hat yourself, am I right?"

"Getting there, John. Getting there." The man plopped down on the sofa and rubbed the heel of his hands over his eyes. "Why are you here, John?"

"Making sure you're still in one piece. Are you?"

"Yes. I'm fine. Haven't lopped any body parts off. Are we done?" He hissed through clenched teeth.

"Wow, aren't we grouchy?"

"John," he warned with a glare.

"I was going to tell you something, but-" a pillow was thrown at his head. "I'm going, I'm going. See you later, Sherly."

The door to the bedroom of 221B swung open quietly, gainng the interest of the loyal bloodhound keeping watch over his master. Speaking of which, the aforementioned master was curled into himself on her side of the bed, wearing a pair of his pajamas that she was certain she had worn the night before she left, if the mascara smudge on the sleeve was any indicator. So much for Bart missing her, the lying sod. Kicking off her shoes, Adelaide clambered onto the bed and bent over him in a manner as to not disturb his slumber and pressed her lips against his softly. There was a sharp intake of breath as he crossed into the land of the living.

"Ad!" He whispered excitedly before pinning her to the bed and showering her face with kisses. She shrieked with laughter, trying her hardest to push him off and failing miserably.

"Get off me, you great oaf!" Sherlock ignored her and simply rested his chin on her ribs and looked up at her with those sad blue eyes.

"You're back."

"Yes. Good job, Captain Obvious."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah. I couldn't let Bart be tortured one more day with you."

"Hey! Uncalled for!"

"You had him in my knickers, Sherlock."

"Right. Sorry. "

Adelaide sighed, tossing her dark hair back and out of her face. "You can't do this, Lock. Your life can't stop because I leave town."

"Then don't leave town," he replied smartly, earning him a smack about the head. "I know. It was stupid. Really, really stupid. I apologize."

"Thank you. I forgive you. Partly because I missed you. Mostly because that joke about the koalas was hilarious."

"I'm a riot, I know."

"Maybe next time you don't stop the whole conference, though."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I knew being with you was hard, but not impossible, under the right motivation."

"What's your motivation?"

"That at the end of the day, I love you anyway. No matter how many horrible things you do or say."

"You really are out of my league. You're too good for me."

"No. I just understand you, is all." She smiled and pecked him on the lips.

"I'm glad your family ruined you." She couldn't help but laugh at the highly inappropriate expression. "No, it's just that if you weren't a sociopath-"

"You'd be alone. I know. John has said it once or twice."

"Or stuck with Irene Adler."

Addie growled deep in her stomach. "That woman can rot in hell."

"Are you still jealous?"

"Always and forever, Sherlock. Always and forever." He reached up to kiss her, smiling slightly at her pouting expression, but responding, nonetheless.

"Irene Adler is nothing and no one compared to you. It'll always be you. Always." He brushed her hair back with gentle sweeps of his fingers and grinned. "Are you OK with that?"

"I suppose so."

"I'm glad you're back." He said, gently getting off of her and moving to his side of the bed, tugging her as close as possible as if to makemake sure she wasn't going to disappear.

"Me, too." She smiled softly as she drowsily burrowed into his side.

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Did you bring the milk?"


End file.
